The Prodigal Son
by pat weakley
Summary: Book Three- Britt Reid finds himself accused of murder. There is no body, only blood-stained sheets. John, Britt and Casey's son, heads out as the Green Hornet to solve the mystery against Britt's wishes. Old enemies, and new further complicate matters.
1. chapter one

**Author's notes: **This is the last installment of the trilogy I began with "Seeds of Destiny". If you haven't read that story yet, please start with that story and continue with "Winds of God" before reading "Prodigal Son". That will make this story much more understandable, although I hope this story will be an enjoyable read even without reading the previous installments. 

I don't usually put disclaimers on my stories, but maybe it's time to do so. The characters-- Green Hornet/Britt Reid, Kato, Lenore "Casey" Case, Frank Scanlon, Mike Axford, Gunnigan (or Dunnigan?), Linda Travis and Ed Lowrey, are all copyrighted characters originating with either the Green Hornet TV series or with the radio dramas of the 30's-early 50's. As such I have no claim to them, but feel honored for the privilege to be able to "play" with them. The other characters were created by myself. 

This has been a journey of many, many years for me. I hope everyone will enjoy it as much as I have. 

Pat W.****

**The Prodigal Son**

**Chapter One**

**The Man in Black**

I 

The Man in Black or L'homme Noir as he was called in France, watched the sleek limousine slide through the mansion's wrought iron gates. It was dark now and although it was spring, the air had a cold bite to it. It didn't matter much to him. Excitement warmed his blood. Beneath the black hood his thin lips curled into a smile. On the small video screen in his car he saw the limousine roll along the short drive up to the porte cochere. A uniformed doorman opened the car's door. Out stepped The Man in Black's target, Julius Archer, and his current mistress, Shannon de la Culebra. Next to come to the gate was The Man in Black's distraction. 

An old AMC Gremlin came to a wheezing stop near the guard shack on the side opposite from the gate just as he had instructed. A young couple dressed in prom clothes stepped out of the car and began to argue loudly. 

"You stupid idiot!" the short haired blonde girl shouted at the young man. "I told you not to buy that car!" she screamed. 

"I told you I bought it as an investment!"the red-haired young man screamed back. 

"Well, you should've bought an investment that ran!" 

"It runs okay. I just need to make a few adjustments." 

"I knew I should've gone to the dance with Jerry. He has a nice car," she complained. 

"Nice car? He uses his parent's minivan." 

"Yeah? Well at least it runs." 

"C'mon, baby, give me a chance," the young man said as he struggled to open the bobtailed compact's long hood. "I'll get you to the dance on time." 

"No you won't," the girl accused as she stormed toward the guard shack. 

"Hey, buddy, can you lend me a phone?" she yelled as she banged on the shack's plexiglass window. "My Cell's dead." 

"Go away," the guard told the girl, "You're on private property." 

"No, I'm not. This sidewalk is public property. Don't you know anything? C'mon can't you just let me use your phone? My dorky date's car just died." 

"I'm not a dork!" her date screamed from under the hood. 

"Yes, you are! You're the biggest all time dork in the whole world!" the girl screamed. 

"No, I'm not!" he screamed back. 

"C'mon, buddy, give me a break. Will 'ya let me use your phone?" she demanded again as she banged on the window even harder than before. 

"I told you to go away!" the guard yelled at her. "I'll call the cops if you don't stop banging on the glass." 

She continued banging on the glass. "Call the god damn cops! Have them take my dorky boyfriend and his freakin' wreck away!" 

"I told you I'm not a dork!" the boy screamed again. "And don't you call the Gremster that. You'll be sorry when I get it all fixed up." 

"You're never going to fix that god damn wreck. The next place it's going to is the junkyard." 

Staying within the shadows, The Man in Black slid near the guard shack. 

"No, it ain't! I spent a lot of good money on it!" the boy protested. 

"Good money?" the girl shot back. "You spent all of five hundred dollars for it." 

"Yeah, well that was money I worked hard for." 

"Yeah, at Burger King. Jeez, what a cheesy job. I knew I should've gone with Tommy. He asked me out just like Jerry did. He's got a good job at Blockbuster." 

"Just to let you know," the boy shot back, "They're planning on making me assistant manager." 

"Yeah? Well, Tommy can get me DVD'S at a discount. That's a hell of a lot better than a discount on a hamburger." She turned to bang on the guard shack's window. 

"I told you kid, to stop banging on the window," the guard growled, grabbing the girl's arm. 

The girl squealed. "Hey! You're hurting me!" 

The Man in Black slipped into the guard shack. He found the controls for the gates and made a few adjustments to them. 

"Hey buddy!" the young man yelled at the guard as he poked his head out from under the car's hood. "Don't you dare hurt my girlfriend." 

"I'm telling you kids one last time to get away from here," the guard yelled at the boy. 

Struggling to free her arm, the girl began to batter the guard about the face and chest with her other hand. "Let me go, you freakin' bastard!" she screamed. 

The guard vainly struggled to catch the flailing hand while trying to keep a hold on the other arm. Screaming at siren pitch, the girl began to kick at his shins. He looked up to see the young man storming toward him. The young man was a lot wider across the shoulders than he had originally thought and had exchanged his tuxedo coat for a varsity football jacket. 

"Get your freakin' hands off my girl!" the young man roared. He shoved the guard, sending him tumbling for balance. 

The Man in Black slipped past the guard shack to the gates. He pressed a button and the gate swung open on well-oiled hinges. 

The guard angrily charged the young man who fell back under his assault. 

"Hey! Don't you hurt my boyfriend!" the girl screamed at the guard as she started back to hitting him. 

He struggled to catch the girl's flailing hands. 

"Hey, I told you not to touch my girl!" the young man growled, charging for the guard again. 

The Man in Black pressed the gates gently closed. He touched another button. The Gremlin's engine compartment exploded into flames and smoke. A lot of smoke. He smiled. By the time the smoke cleared the guard would be alone with only the battered vehicle in sight. The car would be towed away and as he had promised the young man it would reappear fully restored to its former, if somewhat oddly designed, glory. The girl too would be richly rewarded. A shopping spree at Nieman Marcus and a visit to their day spa had been her chosen reward. 

Staying well within the shadows, The Man in Black slipped among the bushes lining the driveway. He carefully timed his movement, moving in sympathy with the light wind that had appeared with the setting of the sun. He did not move too fast or too slow, making sure that his movements had a broken rhythm. The house was well-guarded with many closed circuit cameras and alarms scattered throughout. But if he was careful, his furtive journey would not be noticed. 

He didn't like making his move so early in the evening, but it was the only way to ensure that there would be a minimum of alarms activated. Careful study through the various spy-cams he had secreted on his many social visits to the mansion had taught him the normal rhythms of the household. Once Archer and his mistress had retired to his rooms the servants would start securing the doors and windows. First would be the ground floor, then the second. Last would be the servants quarters. Then the head butler would turn on all the alarms except for those connected with Archer's rooms. 

Archer was a restless sleeper who preferred wide-open windows in the coldest of weather. Too, he and the De la Culebra woman often entertained themselves sexually well into the night and oftentimes well into the morning. Only if he felt the need or if his chief of security insisted, would the billionaire secure and alarm egress into his rooms. The Man in Black was counting on the fact that Archer had just recently fired his head of security. Security would be lax for a while until someone new stepped in and tightened up things. 

His only problem would be the dogs who were released to roam the grounds after the household was secured. He had something in mind that should take care of them readily. 

He moved to the rear of the mansion to the back door leading into the kitchen. He placed into his ear a tiny earphone bud and listened. From the bug he had planted in the kitchen a few days ago, the Man in Black heard the chef ring Archer's quarters. The chef asked about whether the master would be needing something before the kitchen was shut down for the night. An order was made for several cans of aerosol whip cream and strawberries. 

The chef gathered the requested ingredients, and sent the upstairs butler to Archer with them. The Man in Black crouched close to the shadows along the wall as the kitchen boy gathered up the final bag of garbage, set it into a trash can next to the door and then closed the door with a click. Next came another click as the door was locked and the knob twisted to make sure it was secure. The Man in Black watched the lights turn off, then waited several minutes to make sure no one would return. He pressed the tiny buttons on the flexible control panel on his wrist. Each button represented a bug in a different part of the house. He listened carefully as each part of the ground floor became progressively silent. _Now,_ he thought after counting to 60 after the last footsteps up the stairs. 

He quickly unlocked the back door and slipped silently through. The kitchen was immaculate with the brushed stainless steel counters gleaming in the dim light from the hallway beyond. Shiny brass and aluminum pots hung from a rack over a food preparation counter. Crouching low, The Man in Black crept through the kitchen to the hallway beyond. 

Soon he was just a door away from the mansion's grand foyer, one of the most hazardous parts of his plan. The huge chandelier had been shut off but several smaller sconces lit the large space. There were shadows aplenty but there was still too much exposed space for him to cross without worrying about being detected. He would have preferred the servants' access ways as there were more places to hide, but this early in the night the servants were constantly moving through them on their evening duties. 

The thin rubber soles of his slippers made no sound on the highly polished Italian tile as he carefully ventured into room. Halfway across he heard the sound of a slamming door, and the quick rapping of hard soled footsteps down the marble stairs. 

The upstairs butler was muttering to himself in Portugese, but the Man in Black knew enough of the language to know he was cursing all the saints and making up new ones as he went along. Apparently the master wanted the flavored whip cream, not the vanilla, and yes, of course, more strawberries. He passed the Man in Black without noticing him. There was too much on his mind including new ways to curse the chef. Too much to notice that the ornate gilded table set in the center of the foyer had grown an extra shadow. 

As soon as the butler disappeared through the hallway leading to the kitchen, The Man in Black hurried the rest of the way across to the public areas of the mansion. Few visitors ever saw the upper floors where Archer's rooms were, nor did they often see the working parts of the household such as the kitchen. 

Archer preferred to conduct much of his business entertainment at home where he could control matters far better than at a hotel or convention hall. The public areas included several guest rooms, dining rooms, both the grand dining room with a table long enough to seat fifty people and the more intimate room that could only seat fifteen. Here too, were rooms for business meetings and a ballroom that much like those found in convention centers could be sized according to an event's attendance. 

Beyond these rooms were rooms devoted to entertainment, a huge bowling alley, a theater that could be used for film or live productions, and a pool that could be opened to the outside in good weather. The Man in Black passed these all by without the merest glance. Over the months that he had stayed in this dreary city he had studied the possibilities of each, but found them all wanting just as he had dismissed the upper floor. 

Last was the art gallery. Too obvious, he had decided at first, but now it was his last resort. He still did not think it was a good candidate. Archer had shown him around it on his first visit to the mansion. At that time The Man in Black had managed to install one of his spy-cams unseen. It had revealed that for all the rarity of the precious sculptures and paintings that filled its walls and covered its floor space, Archer rarely went there except to show off his possessions to his guests. The Man in Black thought that logically Archer should come many times to relish the sight of the something he had stolen right under everyone's noses. 

The Man in Black had managed to convince Archer that he was a great admirer of the arts, so whenever he came to one of Archer's parties, the art gallery was always part of his visit. Behind his black hood, the Man in Black smiled. The billionaire had felt so confident of his security that he had even gotten to the point of allowing him to view the gallery unsupervised. Now with the touch of a few buttons The Man in Black's several countermeasure devices came into play. He was able to enter the gallery as easily as he would be his own apartment. 

He moved silently among Archer's treasures. It would be so tempting to forget his goal and pick up one or two of the lovely things that glittered within the glass cases he passed. A heavy necklace of huge emeralds and diamonds especially caught his eye. It was a crude thing, the emeralds and diamonds were roughly cut, but not due to carelessness, but because it was very old, made when the faceting of gems was still in its infancy. It would be worth a great deal as an artifact or broken down and the gems recut in a more modern style. As separate gems it would be near to impossible to trace. His hands itched. It was so very tempting. He sighed. A French prison was not the place in which he wanted to spend the rest of his life. Which is where he would go if he did not stick to the plan. 

He moved on carefully, passing each precious thing with a regretful sigh. Time was passing quickly. He had to force himself to the job at hand. Reaching the far wall, he began to slowly search it for signs of a hidden door, something that might lead to a secret room or a safe. He took out a device from a slender tool bag that hung from his belt. The device would be able to tell him whether the wall before him was solid or had a space behind it. Finally he found something, but he was careful not to be too excited about it. It was logical that a room like this would contain a safe. It did not necessarily contain what he was looking for. 

Running his hand gently across the wall's smooth wall, he found a slight irregularity and pressed it. A section of the wall slid open with a soft whoosh. Inside was a dimly lighted room. The Man in Black was keenly tempted to pull out the night vision goggles in his tool kit, but restrained from doing so. If the lights should suddenly come on he could be blinded for too long. Perhaps fatally so. He was not called a cat burglar for nothing. His vision was unusually sharp in dim light. Not there was much to see in this room. There were no pictures hanging from the walls, no glass cases set in them either. Nothing. 

The only thing in the room was a large upholstered easy chair. Its back was toward him, but he could see what looked like the top of a head showing just above the high back. Intrigued, The Man in Black walked over to the chair, and turned it around. Suddenly bright lights came on all around him as a grotesquely painted mechanical clown in the chair began to vibrate with insane giggles. The air was filled with manic laughter. Although he was nearly blinded, The Man in Black saw the door starting to close shut. 

He leapt through the door, sweeping up the light extension rod he had left in the doorway. The laughter was trapped in the room as the door closed, but now the air was filled with wailing sirens. The Man in Black cursed his luck. All this work for nothing. There was only one way out; the one he had planned for. 

Near the gallery were the stairs to Archer's rooms on the second floor. He raced up them, taking two and three at a time. All the doors were closed at the top of the stairs, except for one that was slightly ajar. The Man in Black burst through it. 

For a moment he froze in shock. It was a vision he would not soon forget. The De la Culebra woman was lying on the bed wearing nothing but a bikini made up of pink whip cream and strawberries, not bad, but it was Archer's appearance that made The Man in Black's stomach turn upside down. The billionaire was totally nude except for a covering of pale green whipping cream over his privates. Incongruously, the question as to whether it was kiwi or lime flavored ran through his head. Perhaps someday he be able to forget the sight of Archer's bony hipped haunches and the way the vertebrae stair-stepped up the his thin back. 

"Madame, Monsieur, pardon moi. Please return to what you are doing," he said with a slight bow before launching himself through the open French doors. He flew over the small balcony, catching the outstretched limb on a big oak tree and spun over the limb to land on the soft lawn in an impact absorbing roll. 

All around him were screaming alarms as the night sky was filled with dancing beams from flashlights as guards charged onto the grounds looking for the intruder. Above the shouts of the men he could hear the dogs barking. The Man in Black pushed another button on his wristlet as he ran for the rear gate, the same one the guards were coming through. Two viciously growling dogs appeared out of the bushes ahead of him. It was too late to pull out the pepper spray. 

Barely above the growling he could hear a thin buzzing. The small gas powered planes he had planted in trees near the walls outside the grounds were finally making their appearance. Bright flashes of light and clouds of pepper gas filled the air as the planes dropped their payloads over the pursuing guards. The dogs started milling about in confusion as the dog whistles attached to the planes' wings began to blow. Gunfire erupted as the guards fired on the planes. 

That only made things worse as the flash bombs and packets of pepper spray exploded when the planes were hit. Police cars with their wailing sirens and flashing light bars added to the pandemonium. Instead of running The Man in Black found a comfortable spot under the cover of blooming bushes to wait out the confusion he had created. 

After an hour or two, things began to calm down as the guards collected whining dogs, and shattered airplanes. The police pulled out their notepads and began questioning everyone in sight. The rear gates were still open. It was time to go. The Man in Black pulled off his hood, folded it into his satchel and casually walked past empty police cars parked on the gravel roadbed. 

The Man in Black moodily watched the sunrise from his apartment window. A glass of good French wine, none of that California stuff for him, thank you, was in his hand. He caught the sun's rays in the ruby-red wine, studying it morosely. It was impossible. He had looked everywhere and it was nowhere to be found. Perhaps the information was wrong. Archer was not the one. He refused to believe that. His sources were usually infallible. However there was always a first time. 

The idea of spending another season in this city was unthinkable. He was already missing a Parisian spring for this nonsense. At this point he would be willing to risk a lifetime sentence in La Sante prison just for a weekend romp on the Riviera. _Hell_, he thought, _a lifetime buried in the belly of the Bastille would be better than spending a summer in this depressing city_. 

He pulled himself unsteadily from the chair and walked over to the table. On it were reams of paper and blueprints. He had studied the blueprints so much that his dreams were filled with blue and white lines that went everywhere and nowhere. _Maudire_, he cursed as he swept the papers off the desk. It was hopeless. 

Falling to land on his bare foot was an ivory envelope. It was an invitation to a Charity Ball at Archer's mansion. He was ready to tear it into tiny bits when a thought appeared in his mind. It was worth one last chance. Who knows this might be a sign. He would go. He already had in mind who he would invite to the ball.


	2. chapter two

**Chapter Two**

**One Spring Night**

I 

Spring is a time of reawakening. A time when the world renews itself in an explosion of color. Irises, daffodils and tulips were making their appearances all over the city. Wherever there was a bit of dirt from large city parks to tiny plots about which traffic surged or from hanging planters in front of busy stores, flowers greeted the coming of milder weather. The air was still bracingly cool but everyone was shedding their heavy winter clothes in celebration of the breaking of winter's hold. 

Everyone but Anthony Hakenkrueze. He did not revel in the coming of spring. All it meant to him was valuable time wasted. Time wasted while he waited for the stump of his arm to heal. Time wasted while a replacement was made and fitted. Time wasted while he trained to use the mechanical thing that was attached to his left elbow. Time wasted he could have spent hunting down the Green Hornet and killing him. 

Not all of the time had been wasted of course. Hakenkrueze had made it a point to spend every hour studying the Green Hornet. Every piece of information, no matter how trivial or unimportant was brought to him. Surprisingly there was very little to go on. Much of the material was a repetitious rewriting of the same basic information. Even the police files on the masked criminal were shockingly lacking. It was as if someone had combed through all the files on the Green Hornet and had made sure that anything even remotely important was erased from existence. 

He had been successful in one thing. He had learned enough to know that the Green Hornet's main prey were not innocent citizens but criminals. As long as a gang kept its activities quiet and posed no threat to the Hornet's hold on the city, he would leave them alone. Once it started making noises about taking over the city or killing members of the general populace; the Hornet took steps to destroy it. Instead of resorting to violence, even though with his weapons the Hornet was very well capable of doing so, he would trick and lead on the gang's leaders until they landed themselves in the hands of the police. 

Knowing this, Hakenkrueze had courted various underworld leaders through what was left of his Aryan Pride and Purity Neo-Nazi connections during the time of his convalescence. The promise of high-tech guns had lured out several promising prospects. He had pitted a few against each other to see who would be stupid enough for him to manipulate and yet smart enough to obey him. 

Now his plan was bearing fruit. One of the old school gang leaders had successfully wiped out one of the upstart black gang leaders, making the city's underworld boil over in a battle for control. Just the very thing that would catch the Green Hornet's notice. 

A meeting had been arranged between some of the old guard and the new minority gangs to hammer out a peaceful settlement. It was supposed to be secret, but Hakenkrueze had made sure that word of the meeting was spread throughout the city's network of stool pigeons and tipsters. Especially those the Green Hornet was known to favor. 

The meeting was set up to happen in one of the warehouses near the city docks. It was a rabbit warren of busy warehouses and abandoned buildings intermixed with flop houses and shooting galleries, the ideal place for the cream and dregs of gangland society to meet. 

Hakenkrueze had secreted several of his remaining men close to the meeting area. Their orders were to wait until the Green Hornet had arrived and had gone into the warehouse where the meeting was going to happen. It was critical that the Hornet be separated from his car. He had seen enough of the car's firepower to know that it would be impossible to take the Hornet alive if he stayed with the car. His men had some bazookas and armor-piercing loads that could easily take care of the car, but those also kill the Green Hornet and his man. Hakenkrueze didn't want that. He wanted the Hornet alive, alive to know how it feels to have an arm ripped off by a speeding train as had his own. 

High up on his rooftop perch Hakenkrueze heard the rumble of several motorcycles. The first gang was arriving. They favored big, noisy motorcycles and fancied themselves as some kind of rogue knighthood. Calling themselves the Knights of the Steel Hog, their clothes were junkyard copies of mediaeval armor. _Amateurs,_ Hakenkrueze muttered under his breath. 

The next hour saw other gangs arrive. Some were as bizarre as the Knights, arriving in leaping and bouncing low riders that thumped with heavy bass speakers. Others acted as respectably as heads of state choosing to arrive in long, black limousines with a minimum of fuss or noise. 

The sun had fully set and the meeting in the warehouse was well underway with all of the participants gathered. Hakenkrueze was starting to get worried when the Black Beauty finally made its appearance. With a silenced engine and odd green-glowing headlights it was a black wraith that maneuvered easily into position near the motorcycles, turning around to make sure of a quick get away. 

Two men left the car. One was dressed in a dark green overcoat and snap brim hat. The other in a black chauffeur's uniform. A glimpse of masks seen through his binoculars confirmed that the men were indeed the Green Hornet and his man, Kato. Hakenkrueze whispered instructions over the radio. They were to wait until the Hornet and his man were well away from the car before making their move. He repeated his orders that only the chauffeur was to be taken out. The Green Hornet was not to be touched. The Green Hornet was his. 

Suddenly the air erupted in gunfire. 

"No, no. Not yet, God damn it!" Hakenkrueze shouted into his radio. "Who the Hell fired?" 

The glimmer of tarnished metal from a doorway caught Hakenkrueze's eye. The Knights had decided on their own takeover. They were firing indiscriminately, charging for the warehouse, intending to take whoever was in the building. 

_Where's the Hornet? _Hakenkrueze pulled his rifle to his shoulder. _ I can't let the Hornet escape. Have to get him now. _Sighting through his scope for the masked man, he spotted him crouching near a car. The cross hairs centered on the Green Hornet's head. At the last moment the man moved. The bullet caught only the hat, sending it flying into the air. The masked man quickly ducked but not before Hakenkrueze caught the pale gleam of blonde hair, not the silver- grey he expected. 

Hakenkrueze cursed and prepared to take another shot as soon as he had a clear sight of the masked man. Police sirens screamed their approach. Hakenkrueze cursed again. Somebody must have tipped off the police. It was getting too hot. Hakenkrueze ordered his men to pull back. He would have to make other plans. 

Even Hakenkrueze cringed when from his high perch he heard the Green Hornet's big car roll over several of the motorcycles as it escaped. The masked man was not going to make any friends in that group tonight. The sirens were getting louder. As he wrapped up his gear, Hakenkrueze puzzled over what he had seen. It could have been a trick of the light, but he had the feeling that the man he fired on was not the Green Hornet he knew. 

II 

Jacques La Blanc cooly surveyed the large ballroom over a tall flute of champagne. The city's wealthiest and most prominent citizens had paid 200 hundred dollars a plate for a culinary fantasy designed by Chef Sant Michelle, the current darling of the gourmet set. Of course it was all in the name of some worthy cause, but at the moment Jacques couldn't remember whether it was for the homeless or for abused women or for something else that was as worthy. It was all the same to him, an opportunity to mix with the glitteri, for them to become used to his presence, like zebras becoming used to a lion's presence. They were even strolling among the buffet tables like grazing animals, tasting here and there, settling at a table to dine on what they had gathered or circulating between the tables chatting and gossiping with one another while musicians played classical music from a low dais. 

One of the zebras was not about to become used to his presence. Jacques smiled to himself. Britt Reid could hardly be called prey. Despite his silver hair and the slender black cane in his hand, the man was anything but weak. Reid was tall, broad shouldered and despite a slight limp, moved like a tiger on the prowl. Like Jacques, he moved through the crowd, his wife at his side, participating, but never quite fully a part of it. He knew Reid was very well aware of his presence and was watching him as he was watching Reid. Of course, Reid might consider he had good reason to watch Jacques carefully since it was his daughter that he was escorting to the event. 

"You look so serious, Jacques," Danielle Reid said with a laugh as she dipped a strawberry into her glass of champagne. She was radiant in a scarlet form-hugging gown and matching silk wrap. A bouquet of red beaded roses was woven through her dark hair. "You would think I had dragged you here instead of the other way around." 

"Forgive me, mon petit, I did not mean to look so serious," he answered in a light French lilt, "How could I ever be serious when I am in the bright sunshine of your beauty?" 

Danielle shook her head, the lights of a chandelier overhead sparking copper highlights in hair that was so dark as to be almost black. "Has Daddy been giving you the evil eye again?" 

"Of course, as a father should, Dani. He is a wise man to be so watchful of his daughter, especially one as beautiful as you." 

She smiled at his remark, for though Jacques might act the classic French roué she was as safe with him as she was with her own brother, John. In fact the Frenchman with his pale aqua-grey eyes and nearly black hair looked more like her brother than her blonde, grey-eyed twin. Unfortunately, he also treated her more like a younger sister than a potential lover. 

Jacques spotted the night's host, Julius Archer, enter the room with a voluptuous redhead on his arm. While the tall, stoop-shouldered billionaire was dressed in a conservative tuxedo and tails, the red head was nearly spilling out of the empire waisted gown of emerald chiffon. A heavy necklace of emeralds and diamonds poured into her décolletage 

"Tell me, Dani, mon cher, what do you think of that woman? I believe I heard her name is Shannon De la Culebra?" he asked. 

"That's her all right. I can't stand her. I can't believe her lawyers got her off clean." 

"Why is that?" Jacques asked, knowing full well why. 

"Because she is a horrid fake. She acts all so sweet and innocent, but she's anything but. You heard about that business about her late husband, the senator Marcus de la Culebra, being involved with some kind of drugs and guns scheme? Well, he attacked my parents at our own home and wound up murdering her brother in our den. If her husband and brother were dirty, so is she. That woman is no innocent." 

"If she is so evil, how does she manage to stay free?" 

Danielle snorted her disgust. "She knows a lot of people. I think she's got something on practically everybody in politics and probably has slept with most of them too." 

"Do you think she has something on our esteemed host?" 

"I wouldn't doubt it. Not like I like him either." 

"Why? He seems to be a decent man. After all he is throwing this affair for charity." 

"He wants the Sentinel." 

Jacques nodded his understanding. "Oui, I see. Then your family being here . . . ?" 

"Well, you invited me . . . " 

"And your parents, especially your father, decided to come to keep an eye on us." 

"That's about right. Why did you invite me?" 

"Because I enjoy your company, of course." 

"Is that all? Nothing else?" Danielle asked. "I always have the feeling that we can never be more than friends. Why is that? Okay, there's more than five years between us," she admitted, "but I wouldn't think the difference in ages would bother you." 

Jacques tried to shrug off Danielle's concern. "I assure you, sweet Dani, the problem is entirely mine. I have the highest regard for you. My reluctance is merely because I fear hurting you," he explained as he followed her out of the ballroom and onto the balcony. 

"Britt Reid," Julius Archer said, greeting the publisher, "And Mrs. Reid," he continued, acknowledging Casey's presence, "I hope you are enjoying yourselves." 

Casey smiled politely. "Yes, we are. I've always wanted to try Chef Sant Michelle's food before, but I've never had the courage. I never imagined that so many things could be turned into something edible." 

"Yes," Britt agreed. "I've heard of things like those candied violets and rose petals, but some of those meats, well," he said with a wry grimace, "I used to give those parts to my dog after I had butchered a deer I had shot. Even then there were parts he wouldn't touch. Now, I'm surprised to find them here served on bone china and drizzled with chocolate." 

Archer laughed, "I agree with you. To tell you the truth, I wouldn't touch some of that stuff with a ten-foot pole. Of course there are always the thrill seekers who'll try anything." 

Britt and Casey nodded their agreement. 

"Oh, by the way, have you both met Shannon?" Archer asked, remembering his duties as host. 

"Yes," Britt said cooly. "We've met before at some of the fund-raisers her husband the late Senator de la Culebra used to throw," he explained. "I'm sorry about your loss Mrs. de la Culebra, especially under such unfortunate circumstances." 

Shannon smiled, her eyes traveling up and down Britt. He was much older than her, but it was obvious she found him attractive. She moved closer to him, forcing him to take a step back. 

"I appreciate your understanding," Shannon simpered. "There are so few people who understand what I went through. I'm sure you understand, Mrs. Reid, may I call you Lenore? I'm sure you understand how hard it is when a wife finds out that her husband is not the man she thought she married. I really should have paid more attention to what Marcus was doing, but of course as his wife, I thought it was not my place to pry too closely into his affairs. After all, if I could not trust my own husband, who could I trust? 

"I never imagined his political ambition would actually lead to breaking the law. I would surely have tried to do something if I had but known. But even if I had, what can a wife do? We wives often have so little influence over our husbands," she sighed, taking on the air of suffering martyrdom. 

Casey moved subtly between Shannon and Britt, forcing Shannon to step back or risk getting her sandaled feet stepped on. "I guess I'm very lucky. Britt and I have always worked closely together, especially when it comes to the Daily Sentinel. There are no secrets between us," she said proudly. 

Archer touched Shannon's elbow to remind her who her escort was and to draw her back to his side. "I'm glad to hear that you two work so closely together. It's always great when a husband and wife work as a team instead of the wife seeing the business as a competitor for his attention." 

"I learned a long time ago that I had to share Britt with the Sentinel," Casey explained, "You might say that we've set up a satisfactory menage a trois between myself, Britt and the paper." 

"A newspaper makes a poor bed-mate," Britt said, wrapping his arm around Casey's slender waist. She relaxed against him, fitting into his arm perfectly. "No matter how important, or profitable, a business is, it's just a business. If you have no one to come home to, what's the point?" 

"So Britt," Archer said, "Have you discussed with Mrs. Reid my proposal to buy the Sentinel? I can see you two love each other a great deal. Wouldn't it be good to have more time to spend together? After all, a newspaper is a very demanding business. I hate to say this, but you're not a young man. Wouldn't you rather spend whatever's left of your life enjoying your wife and family instead of spending every day in the office?" he asked. 

"We have talked about your offer, Julius. The answer's still no," Britt said politely. 

"But surely it's a drain on your assets. The Sentinel's barely profitable. Surely there's some other, more profitable, way to invest your money. The sum I've offered is far more than what the physical plant is worth." Archer held up his hand before Britt could reply. "But what I'm buying is the Sentinel's reputation. That's something no amount of money can create. Don't you think it's time to reap the benefits of a lifetime of hard work and have the time and money to do what you actually want to do?" 

"I'm already doing what I want to do," Britt said. "I can't imagine what I'd do with my time if I didn't have the paper to go to in the morning." 

"Well, perhaps you could stay on as managing editor, or something. I'd certainly be happy to have you stay on. In fact, I think your knowledge and experience would be an invaluable asset. I'm sure I could arrange for a more than adequate compensation for your time." 

"You mean be an employee at my own newspaper?" Britt asked. "I don't think so. I prefer to be my own boss and run my paper the way I decide is best. I'm too old to learn how to take orders." He squeezed Casey's waist. "Casey's the only one I take orders from. I prefer to keep it that way," he said trying to keep things light even though he could see the billionaire wanted the Sentinel so bad he could taste it. "Besides," he continued, "I'm planning to give the Sentinel to my children. When I'm ready to retire, they'll be there to take it over. The Sentinel's one of the few papers today that are family run. I plan to keep it that way. I'm sorry, Archer, but the answer is, and always will be, no." 

"But Britt . . . " Archer started. 

"No," Britt said firmly. 

Archer opened his mouth to protest, but quickly shut it, realizing that there was no way he could make Britt Reid to change his mind. 

"Ah, Mr. Archer, just the man I was looking for," the police commissioner interrupted, breaking the stand off between the two men, "Your people have been pressing me for some information about what we've turned up after that break-in at your place a few days ago. I've been meaning to talk to you about what we've come up with so far." 

"What do you have you so far?" Britt asked. 

The police commissioner hesitated for a moment. In his eagerness to get in the billionaire's good graces he had momentarily forgotten that Britt was the publisher of the Daily Sentinel. 

"Please go ahead, Commissioner," Archer said expansively, "I'm sure Mr. Reid will respect your wishes if you want this information to be off the record." 

Britt smiled. "Of course if you want to discuss this privately . . . " 

"No, no, that'll be all right," the commissioner said quickly. Britt was a powerful man he did not want to offend. "There's nothing confidential and we'll be releasing the information to the public soon anyway." 

"So what have your people discovered so far?" Archer asked. 

The commissioner sighed and shrugged. "Unfortunately, not much. Our biggest lead were the toy airplanes. We were hoping that somebody might remember the purchase of so many planes. Problem was our perp. already had that figured out. It looks like the planes were bought from stores all over the city; probably one or two at a time and over a long period of time. There's no way we'll be able to i.d. the person who bought them unless we already had him in a line up." 

"Do you have any idea what he was after?" Britt asked. 

"None," the commissioner replied. "Mr. Archer, are you sure nothing was missing?" 

"Nothing," Archer answered. "The more I think about it, the more I feel that the break-in was politically motivated. Maybe something to do with our defense projects or even, who knows, maybe somebody didn't approve of the games we put out. Who knows? There's a lot of nut cases out there. I can tell you one thing though, I don't scare easily if that was the reason for the invasion of my home. All it's done is make me angry." Archer scowled, shaking his head. "It's too bad the police didn't find anything on the intruder." 

"Well, I promise you that we will do everything in our power to catch the culprit, or culprits." 

One of Archer's men came up the commissioner and whispered into his ear. "Gentlemen, and Ladies," the commissioner said excitedly, "A call has just come with some very interesting news. It appears that there's been a major gun battle between some of the city's biggest gangs." 

"That is interesting," Britt said, "Do you have any details yet?" 

"Not much yet, except for the fact that the Green Hornet was seen leaving the scene. One of our units tried to chase him down, but as usual his car totally outclassed them." 

"If you excuse me, Mr. Archer, Mrs. de la Culebra, Commissioner, it sounds like I better contact the Sentinel for a follow up on this," Britt replied, the muscle of his jaw tightening in anger. "Casey," he said, addressing his wife as he took her elbow, "Let's find Danielle and La Blanc and tell them we're leaving." 

Danielle stopped beneath an electric heater that also doubled as a light. Now that the sun had set, it had gotten very chilly. Gazing up at the cloudy night sky, she pulled the silk wrap closer over her shoulders. "Could your reluctance have something to do with Interpol?" she asked Jacques. 

"Interpol? Where did you ever get that idea?" 

"Dad's been looking into your background . . . " 

"And he told you about my being involved with Interpol?" 

"No. I saw the papers he had gotten from them. What's going on?" 

"What did the papers say?" 

"Not much, but the inspector did tell my father that you were not to be trusted. Why did he say that?" 

Jacques shrugged lightly, "You might say I have a hobby that sometimes causes problems with the police." 

Danielle studied Jacques closely for a few moments thinking about her father's "hobby". The one that involved running around in the middle of the night in a big black car. "What exactly is your hobby?" 

Jacques was thoughtful for a few minutes. "Have you ever wondered about people like Monsieur Archer? The man can have any thing he wants. No matter the cost, it can be his, but what about those things that cannot be had for any price? How does a man like him got about getting them?" 

"You mean things like love and happiness?" 

"Non. Perhaps those things are without price, but to people like Monsieur Archer, they can get what looks like love and happiness with their money. Non. There are things, things that are considered the wealth of humanity, things that are so rare that they belong to the people, not to a single individual. For instance, great works of art, rare artifacts, things that you see in the world's museums. These things people like Monsieur Archer cannot buy no matter how much they offer. The answer they receive, of course, is no. Would you take no, mon petit Dani, if you were Monsieur Archer?" 

"He doesn't want to take no about the Daily Sentinel." Danielle said with a slight shudder. "So what do you do about people like Mr. Archer?" 

"I find things. Things that have disappeared, and I return them." 

"And this involves Interpol, how?" 

"I did not always return things," Jacques said fingering the sapphire pendent that graced her slender throat. 

Danielle turned away from Jacques in confusion. Again there was that disturbing balancing act between right and wrong that she had seen her father practice. She spotted her parents coming toward them. Her mother, Casey, seemed worried and her father barely was keeping his temper under control. _Did they think Jacques and I are doing something wrong?_ she wondered. 

"Dani," Britt said when they reached the young couple, "Your mother and I are leaving now. I just got word that the Green Hornet was involved in some kind of gangland shootout. I want to talk to the City Room to make sure that someone's covering it already." 

"The Green Hornet . . . " Dani echoed. _How can that be?_ she thought in confusion. Britt Reid didn't need to send reporters to the scene. He had people who could do that. Then she realized that it was merely his excuse for leaving the party. Since he was the Green Hornet, her father had to find out whether or not the Green Hornet had actually been seen, and if he had, find out who was masquerading as the Hornet. Unfortunately she had a very good idea who that person might be. 

Britt rocked on his heels in barely restrained impatience. "The party's just about breaking up anyway. I expect Jacques will be taking you home soon." 

"Of course, Monsieur Reid," Jacques answered, "I will see Dani home safely." 

"Good, do that." Britt said with a curt nod before turning away. 

III 

"Perhaps, mon petit, your father is right," Jacques said to Danielle was she watched her father's retreating back, "The party is breaking up. Shall I take you home now?" He asked, breaking into her thoughts. 

Danielle swirled the contents of the champagne glass, watching the sparkling bubbles dance crazily as they slid along the side of the glass. A deliciously wicked idea had occurred to her. 

"Jacques, are you here to 'recover' something from Mr. Archer?" she asked. 

Jacques eyebrows rose in surprise. "Why do you ask?" 

"Well, let's see. There's those papers from Interpol, and you just admitted that you 'find' things for them. And you have been in town an awfully long time. A lot longer than you usually spend in one place, unless of course it's Paris. Now I can't imagine it's the weather. You've been here during a few blizzards, something I couldn't have imagined you doing, and while this is probably one of the best times of the year here, I can't see why you're here instead of Paris, where you usually prefer to be. So you must be here for some reason . . . " 

"Why Danielle, beautiful Danielle," Jacques interrupted, trying to sound his most innocent, "I am here because I am enjoying your presence so much." 

_Yeah, right,_ she thought wryly. "Jacques, I don't think you're here because of me. I think you're here because Mr. Archer has something you need to 'recover'. A painting, maybe or some kind of exotic artifact." 

Jacques hesitated, weighing his options. 

"Jacques," Dani pressed, "Now tell me the truth and not any more of that French baloney you've been handing me." 

Jacques sighed. _The girl could be useful . . . _ "Okay, I am here to find something that is rumored to be in Monsieur Archer's possession." 

"What?" 

"A painting by El Greco. It was one of those moody things with Toledo in background, stormy skies overhead, typical El Greco, except this one has never been seen before. An old Toledo family had just discovered it in one of those dreary castle dungeons under a bunch of old rags. Being proper Spaniards, they sold it to The Prado in Madrid. Unfortunately it disappeared on its way to be cleaned and restored." 

"So how does Mr. Archer come into this?" 

"Monsieur Archer was in negotiations to buy the painting when the family decided to sell it to The Prado. I guess this was one of the few cases where national pride overcame greed. It is said that Monsieur Archer was livid when he found that the painting had been sold out from under him." 

"So Mr. Archer might have arranged for the painting to disappear." 

"Oui. Perhaps if he could not have it legally, he decided he would have it illegally." 

"So you're here to get it back from him?" _How wonderfully exciting_, she thought, _if John, Lee and Dad can get involved in something. Why can't I? Especially since involved something legal like recovering a great piece of art._

"Oui, but so far I have not found where he might have hid the painting. I have been watching Monsieur Archer very closely and so far, nothing. If you have a rare piece of art, something that no else has ever seen, would you not want to have it close to you? To savor it, to know that you have what no one else has? But, bah, this Archer, he does not do that. Every night I see him with that woman. You know what they do?" he said, opening his eyes wide in exaggerated surprise. 

"No, what?" Danielle asked curiously. 

"She spanks him." 

"Spanks him?" 

"Oui! He bends down and she spanks his bony derriere until it is red and blistering. Bah, is that the way it should be between a man and a woman? Non," he snorted. 

Danielle didn't know what was funnier. The vision of the voluptuous Shannon de la Culebra spanking Archer's bony butt, or Jacques's outrage. Just as they were talking, she spotted Archer and Mrs. De la Culebra talking to the new Catholic Archbishop. She started giggling. 

"What is so funny?" Jacques asked. 

"I'm sorry, it's just a thought that came to me. But," she said, returning to Jacques' problem, "So you no idea where Mr. Archer might be hiding the painting?" 

"Not a sou." 

"Are you sure he has it? Maybe someone else has it instead." 

"Non, impossible. I know Monsieur Archer has it, but where," he eloquently shrugged. "Who can say?" 

Making her decision, Danielle set her empty champagne glass on a nearby table. She leaned toward Jacques and said with a twinkle of mischief in her green eyes, "Why don't I do some research about our Mr. Archer. Then when we get together we can go over things. Maybe together we can figure out where our esteemed Mr. Archer hid this painting."_ There's no way Dad could object, _she thought_, It can't possibly be dangerous._

IV 

"Damn it, John, what the hell were you thinking?" Britt Reid demanded. Behind them the Black Beauty was rotating back into its underground berth. 

John tried to think of a good answer as he removed the Green Hornet mask. _Should've known that he'd hear about my outing as the Green Hornet almost as soon as it happened, _he thought wryly. 

"Look, Dad, I knew you wanted the Green Hornet to be at that meeting, but I didn't get a chance to tell you about it since you and mom were already at that charity ball. There was no way you could have left without it appearing odd." 

"Odd?" Britt shot back abruptly, "Do you have any idea of how it would've looked for me to have been pulled away to be told that my son's had been killed while disguised as the Green Hornet?" 

"That bullet was mile off. How'd you hear about that anyway?" 

"Never mind how I heard about it," Britt angrily retorted. "I thought I had made it abundantly clear that I didn't want you going out as the Green Hornet." 

"Yeah, you have. Just like you've made it more than abundantly clear that none of my ideas at the Sentinel are worth considering." 

"Is that what this is really about? Just because I rejected a few of your ideas, you decide to try to get yourself killed?" 

"No, that's not it at all. You have to change with the times, Dad. You have to grow the Sentinel's business. You have to expand things. I'm not a kid anymore. You have got to let me have more responsibilities at the paper." 

"I'm perfectly willing to give you some responsibilities at the paper, but you have got to remember to be fiscally careful. We don't have financial backers that we can go running to every time we need some more money." 

"Maybe it's time we should think about getting some financial backing. We could go public . . . " 

"No way. I'm not going to have a bunch of accountants tell me how to run my newspaper." 

"You're doing it already." 

"John . . . " 

"Okay. I realize some of my ideas are too expensive, but couldn't you at least include me in some of the decision making at the paper? How do you ever expect me to learn anything if I don't take part in things?" 

Britt sighed, looking at his son who was still clad in the Green Hornet costume and at Lee who was still wearing his black mask._ Maybe involving John in the paper would get his mind off the Green Hornet, _he thought. _ It might also keep him home instead of resorting to leaving the country again to make himself a name, just like I did when I was his age_. He shuddered inwardly. It was while he was away in Europe that his own father had been framed and imprisoned for a murder he had not committed. That had led to Britt running the Sentinel with no experience at all and to the Green Hornet. The last thing he wanted to do was repeat history. 

"Okay, you're right. I've been leaving you out of the loop too much. Starting tomorrow, early, I'll expect in my office. You'll start working with me learning the ropes." 

John looked relieved, as did Lee who had been careful to stay out of the fight between father and son. 

"But John, and you, Lee, shelve the Green Hornet. It's inevitable for you to inherit the Sentinel, but not the Green Hornet. There's no reason for you to take over the role after I retire." 

"Yes, there is," John retorted. 

"John . . . " 

"Dad, there will always be a need for the Green Hornet. Even though you created him to avenge your father's death, this city needs a man like the Green Hornet." 

"Why's that?" 

"You've seen it yourself how a corrupt city government can destroy innocent people's lives. You've seen that when corrupt people run everything from the cops to the courts to city hall itself, there is no recourse. Somebody has to have the courage to stand against that, somebody who can strip those people of their masks to show to the public their true face, so that there can be true justice. 

"You know as well as I, we can only go so far with the Sentinel. I've seen it in other countries where those newspapers that fail to toe the party line, those who dare to reveal the truth, are destroyed by people who don't want the truth to be told. 

"Hell, we're coming close to that ourselves. Newspapers are being bought off one by one by huge corporations or being forced into bankruptcy. Soon, all sources of information; radio, television, newspapers, the Internet will be owned a very select, very powerful few. They will be the one's who will be controlling what we hear and what we know. The Sentinel is one of those few remaining media outlets that are truly independent. People in this city rely on us to tell them the unvarnished truth when no one else has the nerve to do it." 

"You're not telling me anything new, so why the Green Hornet?" 

"To protect the Sentinel. The Green Hornet is untouchable. He can find out the truth. He can expose the corruption without endangering anyone but himself. He's faceless, nameless. Nobody knows who he is, so nobody can threaten those who are close to him." 

Britt sighed, crossing his arms across the chest. John was right, but . . . He looked at Casey who was watching from the doorway into the garage. "I'm sorry, John, what I said stands. I forbid you to go out as the Green Hornet." 

"You forbid me? Why?" 

"I'm not going to be the one who buries you," Britt replied harshly, "That's why."   
  



	3. chapter three

**Chapter Three**

**Secret Plans**

I 

"Where are you going?" John asked his sister as she was doing some final primping in front of the mirror near the front door. 

"I'm just going out for a little while," she said, grabbing up some books and papers from the table under the mirror. 

"Who are you going to see?" he persisted. 

"Why do you think I'm going to see somebody?" 

"Because you're acting as goofy as a fifteen-year-old that's going out on a study date, especially with all those books you're carrying." 

"Just because I'm off on Spring break doesn't mean I can stop studying." 

"So you're heading for the library?" 

"Yeah, and the Sentinel," she admitted. 

"The Sentinel? Why?" 

"Because there's some stuff in the morgue I want to check out." 

"You could use Dad's computer here. It's connected to the Sentinel's network." 

"And try to get some work done with you and Lee around? Forget it." 

"We wouldn't bug you." 

"Oh, yes, you would. You're doing it now." 

"I'm just curious. That's all. And I still think you're going to see some guy," John insisted as he playfully cornered his sister against the door. 

"Maybe. Maybe not," Dani teased as she pulled at John's arm. "That's for me to know and for you to find out." 

"You're not going out with that Jacques guy, are you?" 

"What's it to you, Mr. Nosy?" 

"Look, Dani, I'm serious. I don't trust the guy. I think he's up to something." 

Dani shrugged offhandedly, "I wouldn't know about that," she said, thinking about the project she and Jacques were working on. "Who knows, maybe it's something the Green Hornet might be interested in," she hinted mysteriously as she pried her brother's arm from the door. 

"What do you mean, the Green Hornet?" 

"That's none of your business. Especially after Dad reamed your butt about going off in a certain black car," she teased as she forced the door open. 

"Dani!" John yelled as she slammed the door in his face. 

John turned around to see Lee watching from the stairs with a wide smirk on his face. "Is she always like that?" Lee asked. 

"Yeah, she's my sister. That's what sisters do. They bug their brothers." 

Lee laughed. "It looks like you were trying to bug her." 

John ran a hand through his blonde hair. "Maybe," he admitted with a careless shrug, "But that's what brothers do. They bug their sisters." 

His grin growing bigger, Lee shook his head. "And to think I always wanted a sister or brother." 

"Yeah, well, I always wanted to be an only child. Hell, that's the problem being a twin. I never even had a chance to be an only child. I always one of two." 

"I bet you'd miss her if something happened to her." 

"Yeah, I would. That's why I don't like her messing around with that French dude. I bet he's going to be nothing but trouble." 

"I wonder what she meant with that crack about the Green Hornet." 

"Damned if I know. She could've been just ribbing me about the way Dad bawled me out." 

"Yeah, but I doubt it," Lee answered thoughtfully. 

"Oh, great now you're going to act all mysterious too," John growled. 

Lee's smile broadened, "Talking about secrets, let me show you what I've been working on in the old barn out back." 

"You got some more ideas?" 

"Lots, especially after I took a look at the old plans. I think there's a lot of stuff we could do using them as a guide," Lee said leading the way to the back yard and the old barn. 

Dani felt a shiver go down her back as Jacques looked over her shoulder. There was a feeling that they were doing something that was forbidden. It thrilled and frightened her at the same time. 

"So mon petit," Jacques said into her ear as he gazed into the computer screen in front of her, "What have you found about our esteemed Monsieur Archer?" 

"I remembered something I had read a few years ago about some kind of protest taking place up north near White Pine," she explained as she scrolled through the morgue's directory. "One of my friends was really into the environmental movement. She was upset because Archer had bought some land that they had been planning to buy for use as a wildlife preserve. She was worried he'd turn it into a ski resort or clear cut the forest. I remember her asking me to go to the protest with her. I was about to, but it blew over before I could. Archer wound up donating most of the land for the preserve anyway." 

"But," she continued, "He did keep part of it for himself." She had found what she wanted. It was a spread from the glossy Sunday Living section of the Sentinel. "This," she said pointing to a picture of what looked like a modernist's vision of an old-time hunting lodge. The building was a rustic combination of weathered wood and natural rock that seemed to grow out of the earth, rocks and trees that surrounded it. 

"I've never heard of this place before," Jacques commented. 

"You wouldn't. Archer doesn't invite a lot of people there. It's very private. We were only able to do this spread because it was right after the protest. Archer wanted to show off how environmentally sensitive he was, and how he was going to do his best to preserve the history of the area, including this hunting lodge. It was done by one of Frank Lloyd Wright's students at Taliesin. There's even rumors that Wright did a lot of the work on the plans." 

"Do you think this might be where Monsieur Archer is hiding the painting?" 

"There's a good chance of it," she said hopefully. "You see you haven't heard of Archer going there, but that's because it's been snowed in for most of the winter. Now that it's Spring the roads up there will be opening up. This would be the best time to check it out, before the house is opened for the season. I bet only a caretaker would be around there now, if there's anyone at all." 

"Do you have any maps of the area, or plans of the hunting lodge?" Jacques asked. 

"Sure do," Dani said with pride, "That's one thing about the lodge being so famous, there's a lot of write ups. Including this," she said pulling out a large coffee table book from the stack piled on the floor near their feet. "This book has a lot of the plans that were done by the students at the Taliesin workshops in Wisconsin and Arizona," she explained as she flipped through the pages, "Including the White Pine hunting lodge," she said triumphantly when she came to the right page. 

Jacques smiled. "Tres bien, mon petit. This will be very helpful," he said appreciatively. 

"But . . . " 

"But, this tells us nothing about the grounds. We will have to know about the grounds around the lodge and about the security arrangements Monsieur Archer has added." 

"Couldn't we find that out once we're up there?" 

"Dani, you must understand, a job like this requires a lot of study and deliberation. A job to be successful must be well-planned," he explained. 

Dani frowned thoughtfully. It never seemed to her that her father did any planning when he went out on any of his jobs. At least she didn't think so, but then, she realized her father rarely, if ever, discussed what he did as the Green Hornet, even now that she and her brother know his secret. 

"I'm worried that if we take too long to plan, we might lose our chance. Once the roads up there are completely clear I'm sure Mr. Archer will have people up there opening it up. You know, cleaning and fixing things up, stuff like that." 

Jacques thoughtfully crossed his arms across his chest, a move that briefly reminded Danielle of her father. "You do have a point there. If we delay too long, we may lose our opportunity." He sighed. "I do not like having to do things without careful planning, but sometimes we must take advantage of whatever chance throws our way." 

Smiling eagerly Danielle pressed, "So . . . " 

"We will go up there, to this White Pine Lodge," Jacques completed for her. He found Danielle's eagerness refreshing. The distance between their ages had never been more evident than now. Life had not yet had time to harden the girl or make her cynical. She was so different from the women he had come to know as he jet-setted from one European city to another. She was like a breath of spring air. _Too bad . . . , _he thought. 

"But, Dani, we will only go there to observe. This may seem to be grand adventure to you, like something out of the cinema, but you must understand that in real life bullets kill. One does not get up after dying." 

"I know that, Jacques. I'm not a kid," she said defensively. 

"I know, mon cher," Jacques answered, hating to have to rein in her excitement. He smiled encouragingly, "But do not worry. We will do fine. Shall we start on our little escapade a few days from now?" 

Danielle nodded eagerly. "I've already called my friend, Elaine, that's the girl I was telling you about. Well, she still lives up there, and I've set it up for us to stay with her while we check out the hunting lodge. It'll be a good cover, you know. We'll be just visiting an old friend and seeing the wildlife preserve. Maybe I'll say I'm doing some work for the Sentinel, maybe a spread on the coming of Spring to the preserve." 

"I thought you had no interest in the newspaper business." 

Danielle shrugged if off. "Well, I'm not really into the reporting side of it. I like to be more hands-on. I don't want to just tell the story. I want to take an active part in things. That's why I'm going for the public defender's office after I graduate. I want to make a personal difference in people's lives, not just write about it," she explained. "But I am a Reid, and well, someone has been giving me some lessons in photography. This would be a great chance for me to try it out." 

"You are lucky that you know that your work will be published," Jacques observed wryly. 

"You might think so, but being my Dad's daughter means that I have to be extremely good, better than anyone who just comes in off the street. It's expected of me." 

"Because you are a Reid." 

Danielle nodded, suddenly realizing what being a Reid meant to her and about the choices she had been making in her life. 

II 

Britt found John and Lee bent over a workbench in the old barn going over a bunch of papers in front of them. He caught a brief sight of a large piece of paper with smudged blue lines on it. _Must be blueprints_, he thought. It was times like this, watching John and Lee working together that he most missed his friendship with Lee's father, Kato. He had spent many hours with Kato going over some Green Hornet scheme or just something as mundane as the wording of an editorial. 

In the years since Kato left, Casey had become his sounding board when it came to the Daily Sentinel, but there was something special about having another guy to tell your troubles to. Even if the only visible communication was over a beer and consisted of nothing but grunts, shrugs and an occasional jab to the shoulder. A woman needed words and feelings, a guy didn't. 

He wondered what the two young men were up to. The old barn had seen its share of covert plans. It was basically used as a storage place. When something couldn't fit up in the house's attic, or wasn't good enough to put in the house, but too good to throw away, it wound up in the barn. Old bikes, baby clothes and doors- who knows what those were doing there- shared space with old tractors and pieces of the various cars the family had owned, and wrecked, over the years. Christmas bikes and dollhouses had been put together in the barn. So had the Black Beauty. 

"What are you two up to?" Britt asked. 

The papers were instantly, and guiltily, covered up. _Yep, _Britt thought, _they are definitely up to something._

"Nothing, Dad," John said quickly as Lee shoved the papers into a large folder. 

_Yeah, right._ "I've been looking all over for you," was Britt's sole comment. 

"What about?" John again as Lee standing next to him tried to look innocent. 

"I wanted to tell you I liked that editorial you wrote about the gang war that erupted a few days ago. It was very well written." 

"Thanks, Dad." 

"I wanted to get some of your input before Lee and I go out tonight." 

"Tonight?" Lee echoed. "Are we going out tonight?" 

"Yes," Britt answered, "That is unless you have other plans." 

"No," Lee answered slowly, "At least nothing that can't be canceled." 

"You might be careful about that," Britt told him. "I lost more girlfriends that way." 

"Yeah, but you wound up with Mom," John interjected. 

"That's because she was the only one who could put up with my double life. Anyway, Lee if it might interfere with your plans . . . " 

"They're not that important," Lee answered, "There's this girl I've been seeing. She and a bunch of her friends are working on some play based on what happened at Tiananmen Square back in '89. Her brother was one of the people killed there when the army attacked the pro-democracy demonstrators. She wants me to play him in their production," he explained with a grimace. 

"Anything to get out of the drama?" 

Lee nodded, "You bet." 

"How'd you meet her anyway?" 

"I put in an ad in the college newspaper, for somebody to help me with my father's books. At least the ones that are in Chinese. I can speak Chinese very well, except Hui Ying says I have terrible American accent, but anyway I wanted somebody to help me go through the books, because I'm not very good at reading Chinese. I'm thinking about donating them to the Chinese library in my father's name. I wanted to know which ones would be good to donate and which ones I'd like to keep." 

"And this girl answered your ad?" 

"Yeah, I kind of like her, but she's awfully political. I guess I should understand especially with her losing her brother that way, but it gets tiring after a while," Lee admitted. 

"Right...," John broke in, "After all, who wants to talk politics when you can neck instead." 

Lee rolled his eyes and jabbed John in the shoulder. 

Shaking his head, Britt sighed. "All right, I want you two to tell me what happened a few nights ago when you took the Black Beauty out. Why did you think the Green Hornet had to move that night instead of waiting? Who told you the meet was going to be that night?" 

"It was Jester Wiezel. I was talking with him at the Old Timer's bar when he mentioned there was going to be a major inter-gang meeting that night," John answered. 

"You were there as the Green Hornet?" 

"No, I like to hang around there a few times a week. Sometimes I can get a lead on a good story there." 

"Did you approach Wiezel or did he approach you?" 

"He approached me. He said he heard that sometimes the Daily Sentinel can reach the Green Hornet." 

"And you told him . . . ?" 

"I told him that I didn't know anything about it. Maybe in the old days there was some kind of connection, maybe someone on staff had a line to the Hornet, but not now. But I did tell him that I was willing to pay a few bucks for information if it sounded promising." 

"And he took your money?" 

"Yeah, and I got the information about the meeting." 

"And it was too late for you to tell me about it?" 

"Yeah, you and Mom had already left for the party by the time I got home." 

"So you thought you'd check it out as the Green Hornet." 

"Yes. Look Dad, I know you're pissed about me not telling you but the meeting was going to happen in about an hour, and I knew you would want the Green Hornet in on it." 

"I understand even if I don't approve," Britt said. "So you two got there and a fire fight broke out as soon as you got there?" 

"Yes." 

"Do you think it was a setup for the Green Hornet?" 

"From what I've heard since I don't think so. The Knights were planning on a take over as soon as they heard about the meet." 

"Sounds like the Knights. They're ambitious, but not too smart." 

"I'm sure they realize that now, as least what's left of them. The battle pretty much wiped out their entire gang." 

"I don't like this. The gangs have been pretty well stable for the past few years. The minority gangs stay on their own turf and the old Families stay on theirs. They fight things out among their own groups every once in awhile, but usually the balance of power is fairly well maintained. But now that one of the old guard took out a black gang leader, things are going to get messy," Britt commented thoughtfully. 

"So you think there might be someone or something that's stirring things up," Lee guessed. 

"Exactly," Britt replied. "That's why the Green Hornet is heading out tonight. Lee, I want you to make sure the Black Beauty is ready and fully loaded." 

Lee nodded his understanding. "There's one thing Mr. Reid," he said. 

"What's that?" 

"Well, the Green Hornet's hat was shot off . . . " 

"I'd rather forget about that," John muttered to Lee. He had hoped that Britt would forget John's near miss as well. 

"What about it?" Britt asked. 

"I could've sworn the gunshot came from overhead, say, from the roof of a building nearby." 

John frowned in thought. "I think you're right," he answered. "I was too busy ducking at the time to really think about it, but now that you bring it up, I think you're right. The Knights were at ground level, between us and the building where the meeting was taking place. The gunshot came from above. It also sounded like a high-powered rifle. That's different from what the Knights prefer. They usually use close-in weapons like sawed off shotguns, knives, chains." 

"Could it have been from a guard posted on a rooftop by one of the other gangs?" Britt asked. 

"Maybe," John admitted. 

"Or it could have been a trap for the Green Hornet," Lee suggested. 

"If it was a trap for the Green Hornet, why didn't they try to reach him sooner? An hour or two is not enough to make sure that the victim shows up." 

"Now that I remember it," John said, "Wiezel did do a lot of complaining about being in jail for drunk and disorderly for about a week. I gathered he couldn't raise bail to get out any earlier." 

Britt nodded thoughtfully, thinking about his plans for the night. "I see, so maybe that was the first chance that word could get out to the Green Hornet." 

"The Green Hornet's hard to reach most of the time," Lee commented. 

"He is," Britt admitted wryly, "I guess the Green Hornet's going to have to be more visible if he wants to stay on top of things. Especially if there is somebody intentionally stirring the gangs up." He was thoughtfully silent for a few moments. "Do the Knights sound like good ones for the Hornet to question?" he asked John and Lee. 

"Could be," John answered. "There's not many of them left and if they're made to think it was a set up, they might be more willing to talk." 

"Except for one thing," Lee said. 

"What's that?" Britt asked. 

"We ran over their bikes when we made our getaway," Lee said. 

Britt shook his head. "That's not good. That's not going to make them very receptive to the Green Hornet," he commented. 

Lee grinned, "I didn't think the Green Hornet worried about things like that." 

"I think it's more like Kato enjoys having a reason to bust a few heads." 

"If you can't get them with honey . . . " Lee said. 

"And Hornets aren't known for making honey," Britt said. 

III 

That evening after dinner, Britt and Casey saw John and Lee to the front door. Behind them the pick-up truck John had borrowed from his father was filled with John's things. 

"So John, you sure you want to stay at the townhouse?" Britt asked. 

"Yeah. I figure it's time I get out of your and Mom's hair," John answered. 

"I guess it doesn't go over real well with the girls when you tell them you're still living with your parents," Britt kidded. 

"You might say that," John admitted. 

"Of course I noticed you waited until after dinner," Britt said. 

"Considering neither of us can cook," Lee commented, "You'll probably be seeing a lot of us near dinner time." 

"I'm always happy to have you boys over," Casey said. 

"Just don't bring your dirty laundry," Britt said. "That's one thing I draw the line at." 

"Don't worry Lee told me he finally figured out that the colors don't get washed with the whites. I'm sure he'll teach me too," John said with a laugh as he slapped Lee on the back. 

Arm in arm with Britt, Casey watched John and Lee drive away from house, trailing Lee's car behind them on a trailer. "I'm going to miss him," she said quietly. 

"John?" 

"Yes." 

"We both knew he wasn't going to be around very long." 

"I know, but I'm going to miss hearing his big feet thumping down the stairs in the morning." 

"We'll see him every day at the Sentinel," he reminded her, lovingly squeezing her close to him. 

"So you think he'll be able to settle in at the Sentinel?" 

"I think so. I'm sure we'll have a few arguments every once in awhile, but he does have a lot of good ideas." 

Casey sighed, laying her head against Britt's shoulder. "The house is going to feel so empty after Dani goes back to law school." 

"At least we'll have the whole place to ourselves instead of wondering when someone's going in pop in at the worst time," Britt answered, tipping Casey's chin up. His eyes were smokey blue grey. 

Tilting her head, Casey smiled and draped her arms over his broad shoulders. "When are you going out in the Black Beauty tonight?" 

"I'll leave the house around ten," he answered before kissing her. 

Running her fingers through his thick silver-grey hair, she savored the taste of his lips. "Dani's out with some friends and won't be back until late." 

"So we'll have the house to ourselves for a few hours," Britt said, pulling her closer to him. 

"Uh huh. Reminds me of the times we would get home early from the Sentinel just before it was time to pick up the kids from the babysitter's." Casey began to loosen the buttons of his shirt. 

"Remember the times we would wait until everyone left the Sentinel?" Britt said as his hands worked at loosening her bra. 

Casey nodded with a giggle as she ran her hands through the silver hair on his naked chest. "I also remembered the times we had to rush to cover up when the cleaning lady came in." 

Britt laughed. She could feel the rumble through her fingers. "I'll never forget the look on Dunigan's face when he came into my office and found us there making love." One hand had slipped under her bra, while the other pressed her hips closer to his. 

"How can you forget that, when it just happened last week?" she commented with a laugh. Britt removed his hands from her body just long enough to allow her to slip his shirt down from his shoulders and down his arms. He pulled her close to him in a passionate embrace. 

Casey shuddered in his arms for a moment, fighting the wave of fear that suddenly overtook her. _He is always like this before a job as the Green Hornet_, she thought, _as if this might be the last we will be together._ She sighed. _Come home to me. Come home, safe_. If there had to be a last memory, making love to him was the one she wanted to have. 

She kissed him deeply, their lips lingering before separating for a breath. Britt slipped his hands under her jeans. Tossing her hair back, Casey gently freed his hands from her body and slid her hands up his arms and on up to his shoulders. The game was not over yet. She wanted to take a few more moments to admire her lover, to imprint him on her memory, forever if it needed to be. 

He was still a strikingly attractive man. His hair was silver-grey and thick, his eyes a deep Mediterranean blue-green that could go stormy grey or ice blue depending on his mood. Laugh lines crinkled his eyes and deep creases ran from a narrow-nostriled nose to a wide, thin-lipped mouth. A strong square chin completed a rugged face that had seen its share of joy and sorrow, pleasure and pain. His body too, reflected that. 

He was well muscled with broad shoulders, and a flat belly, but never one to spend hours in the weight room, he did not have bulging vein-covered muscles. When he moved though, she could see them smoothly flexing beneath his deeply tanned hide. He was not soft and sculpted like a member of a boy band or an action movie hero. His body was of a long-lived fighter, strong because it needed to be. The scars of a fighter covered his body. Old bullet wounds dimpled his torso and wide back as did knife wounds and the welts from the surgeries that had been done to keep him alive. Britt hated to go without a shirt in public because of them, but Casey found that they only made him more ruggedly handsome. 

She pressed her body to him, kissing him. 

"I love you, Casey," Britt whispered huskily into her ear, "I'll always love you." 

_"_I love you too," she whispered back. 

_I just hope Dani doesn't come home early_, Casey thought before losing herself in their passion. 


	4. chapter four

**Chapter Four**

**Action**

I 

Britt felt unusually uneasy as he watched the Black Beauty come up from its underground berth. He usually enjoyed watching as part of the townhouse's garage's floor rotated up and over to reveal the big car. The sight of the dim green light overhead playing on the car's big grill as it appeared out of the darkness usually sent a thrill of excitement through him. A massive car with a long hood and long trunk, the Black Beauty had served him well since he started being the Green Hornet in the late 60's. Although it had a curb weight of over 5 tons, the Black Beauty was fast and could move as nimbly as a sports car. Unlike a sports car it was sheathed in a light weight armor that made it virtually bullet proof. The car was also fully loaded with a wide array of weapons that had given it the well-earned nickname of "The Rolling Arsenal". For some reason he could not figure out, he felt as if this would be the last time he rode out in the Black Beauty as the Green Hornet. It felt like something was passing through his hands that he could never get back again. 

Behind him, still holding his black mask in his hand, stood Lee dressed in the black chauffeur's uniform. Lee, like always, looked ready and eager to get going. Next to him stood John who was looking wistfully at the car. Britt knew that his son was wishing that he was wearing the green overcoat and mask instead of him. If Britt had his way, he never would. 

After putting on his green mask, the mask of the Green Hornet, Britt slid into the backseat of the Black Beauty. Lee, also masked, slid behind the steering wheel. John stepped up as the rear door. "Dad, be careful," he said. 

"I always am," the Green Hornet answered. 

"I know, but it's just that . . . " John hesitated. _Did he too feel uneasy? _Britt wondered. John seemed to shrug it off with a low chuckle, trying to make light of things. "You know how Mom worries." 

"I know," the Green Hornet said, "Tell her I'll be careful." 

John pressed the heavy door closed. 

The Green Hornet took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Being careful was fine, but he couldn't afford to lose the edge. That could be fatal. He removed the Hornet Sting from the weapons locker, flipped the butt of the slender black rod open. A loud buzzing filled the air. "Hornet Sting, check," he said. 

Next he pulled out the Hornet gas gun, opened the gun's butt, pulled out the gas cartridge and checked the fluid level in the cartridge. He snapped the butt closed, checked the gas pressure and said, "Hornet gas gun, check." 

"Kato, check the Hornet Scanner." 

Kato flipped up the top of the armrest to his right to reveal a control panel of switches, buttons and indicator lights. He flipped a switch and from the center of the Black Beauty's long rear deck rose a small satellite. A light set on top of the Scanner flashed its readiness. "Hornet Scanner, check," he said. 

The Green Hornet could feel the old excitement come back. _Good._ "Let's roll, Kato." 

The back wall of the garage including an ivy espalier rose up. The Black Beauty moved silently out. It moved through a series of interconnected alleyways away from the townhouse until it reached a brick wall. The brick wall separated. The Black Beauty passed through and behind it the man and woman in a tattered billboard were reunited in a minty kiss. 

The Black Beauty was headed for Hog Heaven. Run by the Knights of the Iron Hog, Hog Heaven was one of the many bars and road-houses that sat along the interstate or along the narrow two lane highways that ran from the northern lumber country to the urban south. Long haul truckers, lumbermen and rootless men on four wheels or two made for a rough clientele. It didn't matter to the owners of these tough places how many times windows and doors were broken in fights. As long as their overpriced liquor and women were paid for, they didn't care. 

The Green Hornet had intended to investigate this network of bars and road-houses for some time. There were rumors that the legally taxed liquor bottles were freely mixed in with bootleg liquor and that which had been shipped out of Canada down the back roads or boated in from international waters under the cover of darkness. 

It was more a job for the Feds to handle, but the Green Hornet had decided that it was taking too long for the bureaucratic wheels of law enforcement to turn even after the Daily Sentinel had run a series of exposes on the problem. It was time for the Green Hornet to step in. Especially since the word around town was that the leader of the Knights was an ambitious man and was looking to expand his business into the rougher parts of the city. It was also said that this was what had led to the attack on the inter-gang meeting. 

There weren't many of the Knights left, but tonight the Green Hornet would make sure he got the answers he needed or there would be even fewer of them left. 

The Black Beauty ground to a halt in the shadows of a large tractor rig at the outer edges of the large graveled parking lot surrounding the road-house. At this late hour, the road-house was just starting to get busy. There were several other tractor rigs in the parking lot, while closer in to the brightly lit building, in the place of honor, were several gleaming low-rider motorcycles. As the Green Hornet and Kato watched three men exploded from the front door. 

"I toldja, you were gonna be freakin' sorry if you didn't stop asking questions!" a big bear of a man screamed at the thin blonde man he had thrown out of the front door. 

His partner, another bearded man-mountain kicked the helpless man. "Yeah, we don't like no nosy people hangin' around here," he said, sending another kick in the blonde man's side. 

Trying to protect his head from the men's hobnailed boots, the blonde man had curled up into a fetal ball. He chanced raising his head. A smile cracked his bruised face, "I can hear just fine. Kicking isn't going to make me hear you any better," he commented wryly. 

The first of the big men lifted his leg to kick the blonde man. He felt the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed against his neck. He very slowly brought his leg back down to the ground. 

"I'd like you to meet some friends of mine," the blonde man said, painfully dragging himself to his knees, "They like to ask questions too, but they don't take 'no comment' as well as I do." 

With a horrendous growl the second big man charged at the man holding the gun on his partner. A quick side chop from a slight man dressed in a black chauffeur's uniform dropped him instantly to the ground beside the blonde man. 

The first man's eyes slid fearfully to the man holding the gun. He had instantly recognized the chauffeur, but seeing the cold green eyes in the green mask with the green hornet on its brow, he wished he was wrong. 

"Hey, Hornet," he stuttered, "We was just havin' some fun." 

"Would you like my man to have some fun with you?" the Green Hornet asked. 

"No way, hey, if we knew he was yer friend, we wouldn't have touched him none," the man stuttered as the chauffeur, flexing his hands eagerly, strolled carelessly toward him. 

"Where's Buske?" the green masked man demanded. 

"I dunno." 

"Try again," the Green Hornet growled. 

Smiling coldly while he causally hit his open palm with his fist, Kato approached the man. 

"He's inside," the man stammered. 

"Very good, my friend," the Green Hornet said smoothly. 

A green mist whispered out the gun enveloping the man. He gasped, then fell to the ground like a lightning struck oak. 

"You know you could've asked me," the Lowery said as Kato helped him to his feet. 

"Yes, I could've," the Green Hornet agreed, stepping over the bodies on the ground, "But that wouldn't have made much of an impact on these lunkheads, would it?" 

"So Lowrey, what are you doing here?" the Green Hornet asked. 

"I was just looking into the attack a few days ago. You know, the one you two were at," the reporter answered as he tried to finger comb straw-colored hair away from his eyes. 

"What did you find out?" the Green Hornet asked. 

"Nothing, they sniffed out that I was a reporter right off the bat." 

"Was that before or after you opened your mouth," Kato asked wryly, noting that the reporter although casually dressed in jeans and a heavy weight fleeced jean jacket, looked nothing like Hog Heaven's rough-edged patrons. 

"After. I tried to act like I was from the city looking for a little action. 

But when I started to ask a few questions, well . . . " 

Shaking his head, the Green Hornet said, "Kato, will you take Lowrey to his car, please?" 

"Uh, he can't do that," Lowrey said. 

"Why?" 

From behind the building they could hear the echo of something heavy hitting metal. "That's my car. They said they were going to make sure I had to walk home." A grimace appeared on his long face, "On broken legs," he added. 

Rolling his eyes to heaven, the Green Hornet sighed. "Take him to the Black Beauty then." 

"Why don't I go in with you?" Lowrey suggested hopefully. "After all, it's a story," he added, knowing that the Green Hornet was also his boss, Britt Reid. 

"No way. You do your reporting from the Black Beauty's back seat, and consider yourself lucky I don't send you walking back to the city." His eyes traveled meaningfully down the reporter's long thin legs, "Without broken legs." 

After he had left the reporter in the Black Beauty with a stern warning not to touch anything, Kato returned to the Green Hornet's side at the back door to the road-house. The men who had attacked the reporter's car were lying unconscious on the ground near the masked man's feet. 

"Didn't get to them in time, huh?" Kato asked, noticing that the reporter's car was severely dented and missing most of its windows and lights. 

"'Fraid not," the Hornet replied, "That's another damn insurance claim I'm going to have to make good for Lowrey." 

"Maybe he should get something more sturdy next time," Kato commented. 

"Like what? A tank?" 

Kato grinned in reply. "Together or separately?" he asked the older man as they entered the back door. 

"Together," the Green Hornet answered. He noted with approval that Kato had returned from the Black Beauty with a set of nunchakus in his hands. "Don't be surprised if we have to fight as soon as we get in," he warned. 

Kato nodded with a grim smile. There was nothing he liked more than a good fight. 

They passed noiselessly through what passed for a kitchen, but neither man would have even considered stealing a bite from the noisome food that was laying in greasy globs on the filthy counters. A cook watched them warily as they passed, but made no move to stop them. He wasn't about to get involved in whatever business brought the Green Hornet and Kato to the road-house. 

They passed out of the kitchen and into a narrow hallway that led past filthy bathrooms that had probably never been cleaned since Hog Heaven was built. The entire place smelled of stale beer, marijuana, vomit and a backed up sewer. 

The main room of the roadhouse wasn't any better, except their ears as well as their noses were assaulted. Loudspeakers set in every corner of the room competed vainly in top volume against the racket of cursing, drunken laughter and the crashing of bottles against walls and people's heads. In one corner a game of pool was being played with the smashing of pool sticks over helmeted heads. 

Reigning over this insane kingdom in a throne made up of twisted motorcycle carcasses and wearing a chromed crown inexplicably adorned with a Mercedes hood ornament, was 'Husky' Buske. Buske was a massive man whose face was nearly invisible under long matted black hair and a curling black beard that disappeared in a thatch of black chest hair. Huge hairy arms protruded from a greasy black leather vest as equally huge hands held the buttocks of the blonde woman writhing on his lap. 

Bright white-blue eyes, which had given him his nickname of Husky, hungrily watched her swaying breasts as she slowly moved her hips. The only thing she wore was a light-blue denim vest. There was a look of serious concentration on her face as she swayed over his exposed hips. The long kinky curls of her over-bleached blonde hair hung like a horse's mane down her back. She could have been a very old sixteen or an exhausted sixty. 

Despite the Green Hornet's expectations no one noticed his and Kato's entrance. No one except Buske. A wide grin showing unexpectedly small neat white teeth appeared from within the heavy beard as the two masked men cautiously made their way to his throne. The grin became even wider as a bottle soaring above the Green Hornet's head smashed into the wall behind him. Kato crouched, ready to take on the attacker, but the Green Hornet, his own cool green eyes on Buske's showed no reaction. No one followed up on the bottle. It seemed to be just a stray missile. One among many that routinely hit the walls or ceiling. 

When the Green Hornet finally reached his throne Buske shoved the girl off his lap. 

"What d'you want, Hornet?" Buske growled at the masked man. 

"I have a few things I want to discuss with you," the Green Hornet replied. 

"Like what?" 

"Like the Inter-gang meeting you and your boys broke up a few nights ago." 

"What about it? If you hadn't run over our bikes I wouldn't have lost so many men," Buske said angrily. 

"Your bikes were in the way. We went over them. Just like you did at the Inter-gang meeting. If something, or somebody, is in the way, you go over it. Right?" 

"I lost a lot of good men," Buske muttered. 

"I wasn't the one who decided to attack the meeting. If you had asked me, I would've told you it was a stupid thing to do." 

"Now look here. If you think you can waltz right in here and call me stupid . . . " 

"Would you rather I call you stupid behind your back, like everyone else does?" 

"Who?" 

"Like I said, everyone. Especially the man who set up the meeting. It took him a lot of work to get every body together in one place and you had to ruin it all by trying to turn it into your own party." 

"What's he sayin' about me?" 

"That you're a fool. That you can't even run your own gang halfway decently out in the sticks like this, never mind trying to break into the big time in the city. You're nothing but small potatoes." 

Buske lurched to his feet. The Green Hornet noticed for the first time that the gang leader's right leg was encased in a black painted cast. "Let me tell you something Hornet. I got plans. I'm gonna make all those big-city mother frs kiss my hairy ass by the time I get through with them. Especially that fool who thinks he's gonna have himself some pet gangs who'll run things for him. I ain't nobody's pet." 

"Tell me about this man who making 'pets' of the city's gangs." 

Suddenly Buske laughed. "You don't know shit. D'you, Hornet? You've been out of action so damn long, you ain't got no idea of what's going on in your own damn city." 

"I might not have been 'in action', Buske, but I wasn't dead. I just had 

other, more interesting, things to occupy me. Now I want to make it my city again. I'm always open to taking on partners." 

"I heard of what happens to your 'partners', Hornet." 

The Green Hornet shrugged carelessly. "Whatever. You can be my partner and help me run some very profitable enterprises, or you can be one of this guy's 'pets'. Because I can promise you that after the smoke clears there'll be nothing else." 

Buske nodded to himself. Despite his barbaric appearance, he had an intelligence to match his ambition. And he was very ambitious. 

"Y'know, Hornet, you might have a point there. I don't much like the idea of being your partner. Like I said, I've heard what happens to your partners . . . " 

"Only to the ones who are stupid enough to cross me . . . " the Green Hornet interrupted. 

"Yeah, sure," Buske, said distrustfully, "But I sure as hell don't know shit about this new guy. No one's even seen him," Buske continued. 

"No one?" 

"No one as far as I hear, 'cept maybe one or two of his 'pet' gang leaders. But, the way I see it, you've been around a long time. Everybody knows the Green Hornet and everybody knows your rep. Even the rawest gang wannabe know you and knows not to mess with you. I like that. But this other guy . . . Hell, it could be a set up by the Feds. Hell, it could a sting to end all stings." 

"So your point is . . . " the Green Hornet pressed impatiently. 

"I'll work with you, Hornet, but far as it bein' a partnership. Let's just call this a mutual non-aggression pact. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours." Buske's grin became wider, "Hell, I know where I can get you some good shit, and I got me some fresh ass if you'd like a sample of the goods." 

"Thanks, but no thanks," the Green Hornet replied, "Just tell me what you do know about this new guy and who he has in his back pocket." 

"I don't know nothin' about the guy, but I hear that Trini Mbeka and Oscar Romanov are in real tight with him." Buske answered. 

"Mbeka's head of the Trinidad gang, isn't he?" the Green Hornet asked. 

"Yeah, and Romanov's fighting for control of the Moscow mugs. It's gonna be either him, or Scholenski who winds up running the whole tribe." 

"I take it the mystery man's backing Romanov." 

"That's what I hear." 

The Green Hornet nodded to Kato, "Time we leave." He added to Buske, "I'll keep in touch." 

Buske grinned. "Yeah, you do that." 

One of the men playing pool spotted the two masked men easing out of the crowded bar. "Hey you're the two assholes who ran over my bike!" he yelled as he lumbered drunkenly toward them. 

Kato shot a questioning look at the Green Hornet. The Green Hornet shook his head. "Ignore him." 

"I said you wrecked my bike!" the man repeated. "You owe me a ton of money for it." he added as he grabbed up a nearly full beer bottle and smashed it against the pool table. 

The Green Hornet glanced at Buske who was watching what was happening with unconcealed glee. _No help from that quarter, _he thought. "Head for the door," he said under his breath to Kato. 

"But . . . " 

"Move," the Green Hornet said tersely. He didn't want Kato's hot head to get them in any deeper than they were already. 

The man was coming closer, waving the jagged end of the beer bottle in his hand. "I loved that bike, man. I spent a whole lotta dough on it, and now yer gonna pay for it," he growled. The other men were now noticing what was happening and were starting to fall in behind him. Some merely saw it as an interesting diversion. Others, too many, were eager for any excuse for a fight. Especially if it was against only two men. 

With a single move the Green Hornet pulled the Hornet Sting from the pocket inside his coat and snapped it to nearly its full length. The Gas gun would be better at dropping the man, but the Sting would be more impressive on the gathering crowd. 

"I suggest you don't take another step, my friend," the Green Hornet warned, aiming the sting at the approaching man. 

The man took another step. The Hornet sting shrilled up the scale until everyone's ears were hurting from the high pitch of its sonic beam. The bottle in the man's hand dissolved into sand-sized bits of glass. 

Howling and cursing, the man danced around in pain. Although his hand had only caught the side-wash from the Sting, it was enough to make his hand feel like it had been stung by a dozen angry hornets. 

"Anyone else?" the Green Hornet growled. 

Everyone shook their head. 

"Next time, my friend," the green-masked man said, "Remember not to park in the middle of the street. You could lose a lot more than a motorcycle the next time." he added to the man nursing his injured hand under his armpit. 

Still aiming the Hornet sting on the crowd, the Green Hornet began to slowly back toward the rear door. There was still too much distance for him to cover. Kato waited anxiously near the hallway. For each step he took, the crowd edged warily with him. From the corner of his eye, he could see Kato glancing between him and the crowd. Kato started taking few steps toward him. The Green Hornet prayed that Kato wouldn't do anything to set the crowd off. Cobra-like it followed his every move, waiting for the slightest sign of weakness on his part. The distance to safety was getting shorter. 

_Just a few feet more,_ the Green Hornet thought. His attention wavered for a moment. 

A glass missile soared overhead, striking the Green Hornet in the head. He fell to his knees as the Sting skittered out of sight across the filthy floor. Roaring as if from a single throat, the crowd surged over the masked man, engulfing him in a sea of fists and feet. 

The Green Hornet fought back, smashing his fists into anything that came close. Noses, faces, stomachs, anything to stop from being buried. He dodged a cue stick aimed his head and wrenched it free from his attacker's hands. Using it like a quarterstaff, he jammed its butt into the belly of the man closest to him and caught another across the chest with the other end. There were so many of them he couldn't tell one person from another. All he could do was fight. Or die. Above it all he could hear Kato's catlike yowls and the clacking of nunchuks hitting solid targets. 

Swinging the nunchuks about him, Kato threw himself into the fray. The wooden ends of the nunchuks whistled through the air, whacking heads and anything else that was exposed. Kato spun and pirouetted, circling the nunchuks through the air and around his body until the weapon was nothing but a blur. With flying kicks and punishing blows, Kato quickly cleared a space around the Green Hornet. 

Kato crouched, holding one end of his weapon in hand, the other under his arm, ready to snap it out against anyone stupid enough to get too close. There was utter silence broken only by winded breathing and moans. 

"You okay, boss?" Kato chanced, not daring to spare a moment of concentration. 

"Yeah," the Green Hornet gasped out as he steadied himself on one of the few tables still standing. 

The crowd was reduced by nearly half with many of the men either unconscious or sporting bloodied heads and bruised bodies. Buske remained on his throne, untouched by the surprisingly brief melee as if it happened every day. 

_Probably does_, the Green Hornet thought ruefully as he watched the eyes of the men still circling them. Thankfully the fight was out of most of them. Some were even limping back to the pool tables or to the bar for a drink. There were still too many who were too interested in them. _Not good_. 

"Hey, Hornet, nice fight!" Buske yelled, throwing the Hornet sting to the masked man. The Green Hornet caught it almost without looking. It felt good to feel its solid weight in his hands. 

"Party's over," Buske yelled as he smashed a fist against the jukebox next to him. A sad country music song about lost love filled the air. "Drinks are on the house!" 

"You owe me, Hornet," he said to the masked man. 

The Green Hornet nodded as he chanced touching the tender spot on his head. When he pulled his hand away it was damp with blood. His hat had protected his head to some degree, but the breaking glass had left a deep cut in his scalp. _Yeah, sure, I owe him all right,_ he thought, _owe him a smack across the chops one of these days._

Now it was definitely time to leave. He walked to Kato's side. The younger man was starting to relax as the crowd was starting to melt away. 

"Thanks," he said to Kato, "Good job." 

Suddenly before his horrified eyes, Kato's answer was lost in a look of pain and shock. The Green Hornet caught him just before he slumped to the ground. In his back was the short shaft of a crossbow bolt. 

The road-house's front wall disintegrated in front of him. 

A grinning Lowery stepped out from behind the Black Beauty's steering wheel. "Need a hand?" the reporter asked. He looked back at the smashed wall, "I always wanted to do that," he added with a wide grin. Spotting the bolt protruding from Kato's back, all cockiness left the blonde reporter. "Oh my god," he breathed. "Let me give you a hand," he said to the Green Hornet. 

"No, I'll take him. Open the back door," the masked man ordered harshly as he lifted Kato into his arms. He tried to spot whoever had fired the bolt, but he could see no one with a crossbow. 

"Let's get out of here," he said after placing Kato onto the back seat. 

Lowrey shoe-horned himself back behind the steering wheel. "Sure, boss." 

The Black Beauty thumped and bumped over several motorcycles as it backed out. _Now they're short even more motorcycles, _the Green Hornet thought grimly, _not that I give a damn. _

A tall crew-cut haired blonde man, Anthony Hakenkrueze, stepped up from behind the motorcycle gang leader's throne. "I told you to hold them until we could get here," he growled to Buske. 

"Maybe you oughta move a little faster next time," Buske answered. 

"Why did you give that back to the Hornet?" 

"What?" 

"That black rod. I wanted it." 

"Should've told me earlier. Oh, but that would've meant you showing your face," Buske said contemptuously, "Instead of letting my guys do all the work." 

"It's not yet time for the Green Hornet to know I'm still alive." 

Buske glared at the neo-Nazi, "You afraid of him?" 

Hakenkrueze pulled Buske's face close to his. "Don't you ever dare say that," he hissed. 

Buske tore Hakenkrueze's hands away from his vest. "Be careful, Hakenkrueze. I ain't one of your 'pets' and I ain't no more your partner than I'm the Hornet's. You cross me and you'll be sorry," he threatened. 

"'Sides," he said returning to the subject of the Hornet Sting. "If he was missing it, he'd just come back to find it. My place is wrecked enough as it is. You have any idea how much it's gonna cost me to replace that wall?" he groused. 

Hakenkrueze smiled grimly. "With the money I'm paying you, you can replace it with patio seating," the neo-Nazi answered. 

One of Hakenkrueze's men stepped up to his leader. "Your orders, sir. Shall we pursue them?" 

Hakenkrueze looked down at Buske who merely shrugged. "Knuckles," Husky called to one of his men. "Get your boys on what's left of their bikes and slow that car down." 

Buske glared at Hakenkrueze, "My boys'll delay 'em enough for you to get your crew together. After that, you're on your own." 

"I wouldn't have it any other way." For now Hakenkrueze was willing to work with, and pay, Buske. Afterwards, Buske would be the first to go. Buske would pay dearly for ruining his original plan for getting the Green Hornet 

"How is he?" Lowrey shot back to the Green Hornet as they sped away from the road-house. 

The Green Hornet gingerly touched the shaft protruding from Kato's back, then tenderly touched a bare hand against the younger man's face. "He's hurt bad," he replied, "but he's still alive. Get us home as fast as you can." 

"Sure. Look, boss, you know that even though I rib the Kid all the time, I really kind of like him." 

"I know you do. Don't spare the horses," the Green Hornet replied as he tried to make Kato more comfortable. "The Black Beauty has plenty to spare, so use them all." 

"Will do." Lowrey chanced a glance into the rear view mirror. "We got some visitors," he said, spotting a pack of motorcycles coming up fast behind them. 

"Lose them," the Green Hornet said tersely as he pulled the scarf around his neck off. He pressed it around Kato's wound. There was so much blood . . . 

The black car surged forward under the reporter's urging, but the road was only two lanes wide, hemmed in by heavy forest and twisted blindly at unexpected times. There was no way he could take advantage of its full power. He could barely see anything past the twin beams of the Black Beauty's powerful headlights. It was like tunneling through darkness that seemed to be almost a solid thing. Behind him he could see the lights of the pursuing motorcycles dancing and weaving as they ate up the distance between them. He spared a quick glance at the Green Hornet. Lowrey had known that Britt Reid was the Green Hornet since previous fall, when he had accidentally found Lee in the Reid townhouse working on the Black Beauty. The man sitting there in the back seat attending to his aide's injury however, wasn't the Britt Reid he had always thought he had known. There was a grim hardness in the man the reporter had never seen before. Talk about an iron fist in a kid glove. This time the kid gloves were off. 

Suddenly a shot gun blast peppered the Black Beauty from behind. Lowrey flinched. The Black Beauty swerved off onto the road's soft shoulder. "Keep her on the road," the Green Hornet ordered. 

"But . . . " Lowrey gasped. 

"She's bulletproof. Keep going." 

"Right," Lowrey answered, not fully believing the Green Hornet's word. Another blast hit the Black Beauty, the noise alarmingly loud despite the solid car's sound deadening insulation. He flinched again, again swerving onto the shoulder as several blasts followed, each one sounding louder and closer. 

"Lowrey, keep her on the road," the Green Hornet warned. "It's not going to do Kato, or us, any good if you run into one of those trees." 

"Don't you have any of those rockets you could use on them?" 

The Green Hornet glanced behind them. "Can't," he replied. "They're too small and agile. They'd just dodge them. It'd be waste of ammunition." 

Again the Black Beauty was peppered by shotgun blasts. This time the reporter did not flinch. The leading motorcyclists, dressed in makeshift junk yard armor, finally catching up with the Black Beauty, began swinging at it with chains and duct tape wrapped clubs. Lowrey swerved, trying to avoid them. 

"What're you doing?" the Green Hornet asked tightly, trying to make sure that the still unconscious Kato didn't fall to the floor. 

"I don't want to run into them." 

The Green Hornet sighed tiredly. This was going to be one hell of a long night. "You outweigh them by several tons. Let them worry about being hit." 

A loud bump and an even more alarming thump were followed by a man's angry scream. Lowrey looked behind to see a man leaping away from a smashed motorcycle as it bounced into the woods. The motorcycles were still pursuing, but had started to pull back. 

"Isn't there something . . . ?" Lowrey asked. "I'd really rather not run over somebody." 

"Do I see a soft spot in the Sentinel's star reporter?" 

Lowrey didn't know whether to feel proud at being called a star reporter or embarrassed at the hint he might have a soft spot. "Kato's not going to want to clean up the mess," he replied instead. 

In the darkness of the Black Beauty's back seat the Green Hornet could hardly see Kato's face. All he knew was that the young man was still alive. He nodded grimly. At this point he didn't care if they ran over a few of the Knights or not, but the reporter did have a point. He tilted out the weapons control panel set in the middle of the back of the front seat. Rockets wouldn't do any good, but a slick road would be a big help. Black oil sprayed out from nozzles set under the Black Beauty's rear bumper. 

Lowrey spared a quick laugh as he watched motorcycles go careening all over the place. Soon there was no one behind them. He let off the gas pedal a little bit. 

"Don't slow down," the Green Hornet ordered. 

"Shit!" the reporter screamed, suddenly seeing a huge tractor trailer across the road ahead of them. Both of his feet flew for the brakes. 

"No!" the Green Hornet screamed at him, "Faster. Go faster!" 

"But . . . " Lowrey protested. 

"You've just run through the wall of a building. A trailer is mostly aluminum. Ram it through the center," he ordered as he flicked the switches for the rocket pod doors. "I'll make sure it's not in one piece when we go through." 

Twin sets of rockets flared out from the pods behind the Black Beauty's parking lights. They struck and exploded just as the big car hit the trailer. From the other side the car emerged from the fireball unscathed. 

Just a few miles ahead of them could be seen the clearing and bright lights for the entrance ramp to the freeway. "Let's go home, Lowrey." the Green Hornet said as he tiredly leaned back into his seat. 

Hidden in a clearing near the ramp Hakenkrueze watched the Black Beauty make its escape. 

"Shall we pursue?" his second in command asked. 

"No, not yet." 

"But, sir, what you said to Buske . . . " the man began. 

"Not yet, I said. The time is not yet right. I may be forced to deal with a clown dressed in tin cans but I refuse to operate on anyone's timetable but my own." Hakenkrueze slapped a hand on his man's shoulder, "Don't worry, the time for battle will be very soon. Very soon, indeed." 

II 

Britt glumly watched the flames dance in the fireplace. He was tired and his head hurt like hell. Worse was the waiting. From the Black Beauty he had called Dr. Grant and had pleaded with him to come to the townhouse. Dr. Grant had insisted that they meet him at the nearest emergency room. Only after relentless pleading had Britt finally managed to get the doctor to meet them outside the hospital. A slight smile appeared on Britt's face. The good doctor's eyes had grown to the size of saucers when he saw the Black Beauty pull up. 

He had climbed into the back seat without a word, trusting Britt's reasons for not bringing Kato into the hospital. Any questions he might have asked were silenced when he saw the crossbow bolt protruding from Kato's back. As the doctor gently examined the wound, Kato had regained consciousness. Britt could still remember the shudders that ran through the young man's body as he struggled to keep up the illusion of being tough enough to take the pain. 

Britt had tried to insist that he help the doctor take care of the young man once they had gotten him into his quarters at the townhouse. The doctor wouldn't have any of it, nor would John. John had gone in with the doctor, leaving Britt alone in the livingroom. The only thing they would take was the gas gun. The doctor didn't have any chloroform and the Hornet gas was a powerful sedative. Lee would wake up with a roaring headache, but he would at least not have to endure being conscious while the bolt was being pulled from his back. 

_Should've gone with them anyway_, Britt thought miserably. Not that he would have been much help. He was totally dead on his feet, but he balked at the idea of being left out on the sidelines. Not to be in on what was happening, that was more than he could bear. 

He didn't even have Ed Lowrey's doubtful company. The lanky reporter had taken a taxi to take him to the Sentinel so he could write up the story of this night's adventure with the Green Hornet. Britt would have preferred that he keep silent about what had happened, but the reporter had a point. It would look suspicious if the reporter had not told the story since everybody at the road-house had seen him get out of the Black Beauty. The best way to kill rumors was to give explanations before the questions were even thought of. 

Britt's eyes wandered around the room. The enigmatically smiling Kore facing him was about the only thing that was the same in the livingroom from the time when he had lived in the townhouse. Except for the archaic Greek sculpture of a young girl, everything else was in the state of change. The Danish modern couch was the same as were the built in bookcases, but the books were John's, and Lee's. The couch was only there until the new leather one John had ordered came in. A massive entertainment center filled with all sorts of electronic sound equipment stood where there used to be a stereo-console and most of the abstract art that had been on the walls were packed to be taken to the Valley Grove house's attic. 

More subtle than the visible change was the feeling that things were very different from when Britt had lived here with Kato. Even though they had always been the best of friends, almost as close as brothers, there was always that small reserve that came from Britt being Kato's employer. Instead, John and Lee were roommates and the place reflected that fact. Lee had his father's old quarters and the upstairs were John's, but they shared the rest of the place. It reflected the tastes of both men. Or at least would once they finished making it theirs. 

_Too bad neither of them can cook or clean_, Britt thought wryly, spotting clothes, dirty plates, and papers scattered on every flat and not so flat surface. The plants in the planter along the steps leading into the sunken livingroom had never looked so sad and the Kore was sporting a tie draped around its ancient marble shoulders. 

Britt's heart froze when he heard Dr. Grant's heavy sigh as he came into the livingroom. The doctor's dark lined face was tired under the brillo pad curls of grey hair. His eyes were downcast as he wiped his hands in a towel. Not wanting to look into the doctor's eyes, afraid of what he might see there, Britt locked his gaze on the doctor's hands. Pale-palmed, dark chocolate brown, the doctor's hands were for a man of his size, surprisingly slender, the hands of a healer, delicate, but very strong. John followed the doctor, carrying the classic doctor's bag in his hands. The doctor spoke to John and took the bag from him. John turned back into Lee's quarters. They were alone. 

"How are you doing?" the doctor said. 

"Fine. How's Lee?" Britt asked. He didn't chance standing up as the doctor walked toward him. There was barely enough strength in him to sit upright never mind trying to stand. 

"He'll survive," Doctor Grant answered. "The bolt tore some muscle and made a nasty hole in his right shoulder blade, but it stopped before it could reach anything vital. He won't be able to use his right arm for a while, but he's young and healthy. He'll be back to normal in no time. I'm glad you didn't try to pull it out." 

"I've seen enough old movies to know you shouldn't do that," Britt answered, trying to sound not as worried as he felt. 

"So you didn't learn that from personal experience?" 

Britt shook his head, "Nope, never ran into any knights in shining armor before." He didn't add that he had once narrowly missed being skewered by a big game hunter, but that was another story. 

The doctor sat next to Britt and began to probe the cut the beer bottle had left. Britt hissed in pain when the doctor cleaned the wound with alcohol and antiseptic. "Maybe next time, you should duck," the doctor commented, as he applied a small piece of gauze and adhesive tape. 

"I would've if I had seen it coming." 

"Seems like all I've been doing lately is patching up that hard head of yours. Good thing you still have good head of hair, otherwise everybody would be calling you knothead from all the bumps on your head." 

Britt nodded with a wry smile, "I guess you're right." 

For a few moments there was an uneasy silence as the doctor put everything back into his bag. Britt concentrated on the dancing flames in the fireplace. The fire was starting to die down, but he made no move to put another log on. 

Finally Doctor Grant spoke. "I guess I should've known you were up to something when you started showing up at my office with a lot more bruises and cuts than you usually do. I want to believe that you have a good reason for being the Green Hornet, but for the life of me, I can't. I've known you ever since your children were born, but this Green Hornet. I can't reconcile what I've heard about him with the man I know Britt Reid to be." 

Closing his eyes tiredly, Britt sighed, "It started a long time ago with my father being framed for a murder he didn't commit," he began. 

"Revenge?" 

"No, not revenge. Desperation. I had no other way to prove his innocence. I thought that as a masked man I could get the answers I needed. Funny thing, it wasn't the Green Hornet who finally proved his innocence." 

"Why didn't you quit after that?" 

"I seriously considered it, but by then the Green Hornet was too useful. I could investigate crimes without involving the Sentinel," Britt explained, thinking that it was ironic that John had said nearly the same words to him a few scant days ago. "Underworld figures are far more willing to talk to another gangster than to the editor of a newspaper. Ed Lowrey just said it today, Britt Reid has to accept 'no comment' as an answer. The Green Hornet doesn't." 

"So that story about the gangland attack . . . " 

"It's true, as far as it goes, but it was the Green Hornet who was the victim. Not Britt Reid," Britt explained. 

"So you decided to retire . . . " 

Britt shook his head. "The decision was forced on me. Lee's father left after I woke up at the hospital. I guess he thought that if he didn't leave, I would continue with the Green Hornet until I finally did get myself killed." 

"Was he right?" 

Britt shrugged. "I don't know. Probably." 

"So why the Hornet now?" 

"Lee. His father had been murdered and he wanted the Black Beauty so he could get his revenge on the people who did it." 

"And you couldn't let him do it alone." 

"That's about it in a nutshell." 

"And now you can't stop." 

"As much as I think I should, I can't. There's still so much corruption in this city and there's nothing I can do about it as the head of the Daily Sentinel. The Green Hornet still has his usefulness." 

"Okay, for now, I'll accept what you're telling me," Doctor Grant said reluctantly. "And I'll remain your doctor. Somebody has to keep you and your family in one piece. But Britt I would strongly advise you to seriously think about retiring the Green Hornet. You can't physically keep this up much longer." 

"That's something I think about every time I climb into the Black Beauty," Britt admitted reluctantly. "But so far the reasons for continuing have been more compelling than those for stopping." Britt didn't add that his biggest fear was that the day he gave up the green mask would be the day John took it up. He would do everything in his power to make sure that day never came. 

III 

Danielle was starting to have a few doubts about leaving on her adventure with Jacques. He had cautioned her that she should not mention it to either of her parents. Instead she had told them that she was going upstate to see a friend and take some pictures at the wildlife preserve. It was almost the truth, but she hated being less than totally truthful, especially since Lee's injury a few days ago. Her father was going around like there was a black cloud hanging over his head. Even Lee seemed less than his normally confident self. Maybe she should have told them, but then she would have been forbidden to go. That's the last thing she wanted to happen. 

The drive had done a lot to lift her gloomy spirits. While spring was in full swing in the southern part of the state, it was just making its appearance in the north. There was something special about the countryside awakening from a winter's slumber. Sure, the city seemed to quicken and brighten with the coming of spring, but in the country the change was magical. Everywhere she looked, life was being reborn. Frozen streams were breaking free from their icy prisons, tumbling and gurgling over melting mounds of ice and snow. Wild crocuses were peeking through blankets of snow and tiny songbirds were chirping happily as they flitted from the branch to branch of newly budding trees. The moist cool air was so fresh and pure that her lungs fairly ached. 

"You look thoughtful, mon cheri," Jacques commented as he carefully drove the rented SUV on the muddy road toward Julius Archer's lodge. 

"I was just thinking about how nice it is to be in this part of the country at this time of the year." 

"Oui, it is most lovely." 

"Have you ever had a chance to see this side of the United States when you come over here?" 

"Non, never. Usually I see only the cities, sometimes I may go to places like Aspen or Vail in the winter, but never like this." 

"Does this seem too rustic to you?" she asked. 

"Non, it is the opposite. It is more, what do you say? More real. So many places I have been to have been dressed up like a movie set for tourists and the rich who want their beauty homogenized." 

"Is it like that in Europe too?" 

"Oui, in many places, yes. I do not have much chance to see the more natural side of things." 

"Perhaps that's because you never go to places like this." 

"Perhaps," Jacques agreed. 

"I guess there's not much for a thief to steal out in the country." 

Jacques chanced taking his eyes off the road for a few moments to study Danielle's profile. "You have been looking more into my background." 

"Yes, I have." 

"Then why are you doing this with me?" 

"Because I believe in you." 

"Believe in me? I do not understand." 

Danielle looked at Jacques with a small smile on her face. "I know you're only doing this because it's the only way you can stay out of prison but, this might be your chance to go straight." 

"Have you ever thought I might not want to go straight?" 

"Why wouldn't you want to go straight?" 

"Have you ever thought what the straight life means?" 

"I don't understand." 

"The straight life means being just one of the crowd. It means being just like everyone else. It means working for someone or being somebody's boss. It means being predictable and responsible. It means doing the same thing every day, every year, with perhaps a few weeks off for good behavior. And even then you wind up doing something everybody else is doing, doing what everybody else expects you to do. It is a prison with no bars." 

"It's not all that bad. Besides I'd think that with your money, you wouldn't have to work a day in your life. You can just travel from place to place, spending your money and having a party every day of your life." 

"I tried that Dani. It does not work." 

"Why?" 

"Because it is too boring. There is no purpose. It may be a type of freedom, but for what? After a while you find that there no reason to get up in the morning. No reason even for existing. So you wind up masking the pointlessness of your life in drugs and alcohol or in endless rounds of thrill seeking." 

"And so Jacques the cat burglar is better than everyone else, because the only rules he has to follow is his own." 

"Oui." 

"But what's the point?" 

"I do not understand." 

"What's the point? You steal all these things from people you have absolutely no respect for, for what? If it's not for the money, then why? Isn't it just another type of thrill seeking?" 

Jacques was silent for a few moments, then said, "I have never thought about that." 

"Perhaps you should. Maybe having to steal back rare art treasures is the best thing that can happen to you. That way you can still have your precious freedom, and yet have some kind of purpose to your life." 

"Ah, Dani," Jacques said with a brief laugh, "You are a wonder. Ever you are the reformer." 

"Sometimes you just have to have someone else point things out to you." 

"Maybe," Jacques agreed thoughtfully. 

"Do you ever regret the way you live your life?" 

"Why?" 

"Do you have any real friends or have anything to do with your family?" 

"Non," Jacques sighed regretfully. 

Danielle placed her hand gently on Jacques' arm. "Maybe it's time to start." 

"Maybe." 

Jacques took the turn off for the White Pine Lodge. If it was possible the road was even worse than the one that they had been on. While the other one had occasionally been plowed during the winter, this one had not been touched during the entire season. Most of it was covered in deep snow and slick ice except for those few areas where the sun had managed to break through the thick lattice of the bare tree branches that arched overhead. In those places instead were deep quagmires of thick clay-laced mud. 

Jacques had to physically manhandle the car as it slid from one treacherous spot to the next. "Perhaps, Dani, this was not such a good idea after all." he said after what seemed like hours of driving, "Maybe in another week or two..." _Or month, or year..._ he mentally amended. 

Danielle chewed her lip uncertainly. From the looks of things they could have left the road a long time ago. She looked at the clock on the dash. Only an hour had passed. "Just a little more," she urged. 

"Dani, I don't know..." Jacques began doubtfully. 

"There!" Danielle suddenly said, spotting a break in the thick forest cover. "There's the river. Right through the trees. It won't be much farther now," she said encouragingly." 

Finally they reached a small meadow that been had formed by a bend in the river that Danielle's friend had told them about. "See, what did I tell you?" Danielle said as Jacques pulled the SUV off of the road and behind a stand of trees that hid it from the view. 

"Except from here we will have to walk," Jacques glumly reminded her. 

Danielle pulled out the cameras that Lee had suggested she bring with her and began trudging through the deep snow drifts toward the lodge that they could barely see through the trees. Danielle turned to watch Jacques. She smiled as he seemed to be considering locking up the SUV, then thought better of it. It's not like anyone was going to take off with it. Still he was wary as he followed after Danielle. 

"I wish we could hide the car better," he grumbled. 

Danielle pointed out the deep track in the snow they had left behind them, "I don't think it's going to be possible to anyone not to notice that we are here. That is even if there is anyone around to notice. Remember, we're just a pair of nature lovers out to take some pictures." 

Jacques just looked at her, raised an eyebrow, then with a shake of his head took one of Danielle's cameras from her before heading off toward the lodge. 

After what seemed like an eternity of slogging through the thick, damp snow, they finally reached the lodge that sat alongside a tumbling stream that fed into the river. It was still half buried in snow, with long dripping icicles decorating its wide eaves. It looked like no one had been there all winter long. 

Danielle snapped off one picture after another. "Isn't it beautiful?" she said to Jacques who was carefully examining the grounds near the building. "Even I can look like a pro with a subject like this." she enthused. 

"Take a few more pictures over there," Jacques said with a nod toward some of the trees. 

Danielle glanced up to see a camera hidden among the branches. Then she noticed several more including one near the lodge's front door. 

"Even if no one is here, there is always someone watching," Jacques commented, leading the way around the building. 

For the benefit of anyone who might be watching from the cameras, Jacques played the role of director, showing Danielle where to shoot and suggesting possible angles. All the while he made sure that cameras and possible sites for alarms were framed in the photographs. 

He casually walked up to the back door and tried it. The lock was good, but not impossible to pick. When Danielle wasn't looking he quickly pulled out his lock pick set and had the door open in a few moments. 

"Looks like they left a door open," he commented to her. 

Danielle's eyebrow rose disbelievingly. "Yeah," she said, "I guess out in the wilderness people don't feel the need to lockup during the winter." 

Danielle stomped her feet on the stoop before following Jacques into the lodge. It was as impressive on the inside as it was on the outside. Navaho rugs were scattered everywhere on the gleaming wooden floor and were hanging on the walls as well. Heavy leather couches and chairs in thick log frames were arranged in small conversational groups around small leather topped tables. A huge stone fireplace big enough to accommodate a king size bed easily dominated the large room. A large mantel piece of shale supported a collection of carved black Santa Clara and San Ildefonso pots as well as delicate black-painted white Acoma pottery. 

Danielle began to take several pictures as Jacques walked around the large room. "You know," she commented, "those pots are worth a fortune." 

"Are they?" Jacques answered as he looked more closely at them. 

"Sure, not everything that's precious glitters." 

"Oui, that is something I am learning lately. I will take a look upstairs while you check things down here," Jacques added as he started to climb a curving staircase of grey river stone and stripped logs. 

"You know, Jacques, it's funny about that picture," Danielle said. 

"What?" Jacques answered from the staircase. 

"Everything here is old and expensive. These rugs, those pots, even the furniture. It's all top quality and very pricey. So why is there a cheap print over the fireplace?" 

"Which one?" Jacques asked. There were three pictures over the mantel, each showing a hunting scene. 

"The center one. The one with the huntsman and his dogs." 

"Perhaps it is a lithograph, or a rare print, something that did not have a large print run," Jacques suggested. 

Danielle tilted her head, studying the picture more closely. "No, I don't think so. There's something odd about it. The frame's awful thick for that picture." 

Jacques eyes narrowed as he studied the picture from the staircase. She was right. The frame seemed to be slightly thicker than those for the other pictures. "Dani, take more pictures of it, and the fireplace and mantel too." 

He quickly climbed down the stairs and began to consider the arrangement of the chairs and couches before the fireplace. There was one chair that seemed to be directly facing the fireplace and the center picture above it. He moved his fingers around the chair and the table beside it. There was a slight irregularity . . . 

"Hey, what are you two doing here?" A man asked from behind them. 

Jacques moved closer to Danielle and whispered, "Let me take the lead. Pretend you do not understand English." 

"Bonjour Monsieur, it is so good to see someone here," he said, making his French accent as heavy as he could. "We were hoping to find someone here." 

"What do you mean, hoping to find someone here?" the man asked. He was dressed in heavy winter clothing, but was walking around in stocking feet. Jacques could spot snow-covered boots standing just in front of the front door. 

"I am so very sorry. We are lost. My fiancee, she suggested we come this way. The snow is so deep. We thought we would be trapped in the wilderness forever until we found this lovely place." 

"What're you doing out here anyway?" 

"My fiancee, she fancies she is a photographer. She wanted to take some pictures. I told her we should not go so far. But, she is a woman. Who can tell a woman anything?" he said with a dramatic sigh. 

The man glanced over at Danielle who smiled blankly at him, even though she had a good mind to tell Jacques off. 

"She does not understand English. A few words, hello, goodbye, how much, that is all she understands." 

The man studied Danielle who smiled back at him. Smiling as sweetly as she could, she said in a heavy French accent, "Allo." 

The man grinned back at her. "She's mighty pretty," he commented with a wink. 

Jacques nodded, his smile growing wider. "Now you understand why I cannot say no to her." 

The man shook his head, "Just get your stuff out of here. My boss'll kill me if he finds out people have been snooping around here." 

"Of course, Monsieur, of course," Jacques said as he quickly shooed Danielle ahead of him. 

Danielle gasped out a deep sigh of relief when they returned to the SUV. "Boy, that was too close." 

"Oui, too close," Jacques agreed with a large grin. 

"I guess that means we will have to forget it," Danielle said sadly. 

"_Non, pas du tout_! Far from it." 

"But I don't understand. That man will remember we were there. He might be able to identify us." 

"Maybe, maybe not. But I am beginning to think that you are right." 

"About what?" 

"We must strike quickly. That man is just the beginning. I think very soon the house will be opened up and our chance will be gone. We will develop those pictures of yours when we get back to White Pine and then study them carefully. Tonight we will return." 

"Do you think that's safe?" 

"Nothing is safe, mon cheri. It is just that some things are less dangerous than others. This time it is more dangerous to wait than it is to act." 

Jacques smiled as he watched Danielle pull the white knitted hood over her head. She had braided her hair tightly and had piled it on top of her head so that the hood would slip on easily. The smile she was wearing disappeared behind the hood, but her green eyes still danced merrily from the eye openings. 

Danielle had questioned the white hoods and ski suits. "I thought cat burglars wore black," she had commented with a laugh. 

He had told her, "Even the fox wears white in the winter." 

For a moment he regretted the fact that he could never make the girl his partner. She had been right about the loneliness of his life. Unfortunately the fact that they could have been twins underscored the very reason that when he left the United States she would have to remain behind. 

This time around they had "borrowed" a small four-wheel drive Subaru from a neighbor's locked garage and had exchanged its plates with those from another car parked at a restaurant. Danielle had been worried, but he had explained to that nothing would be harmed. Once done everything would be returned to its proper place with no one the wiser. 

They were lucky that it was a bright night with a quarter moon hanging low on the horizon. This time they were able to follow in the tracks of the much larger SUV they had used earlier. That the SUV's tracks were widened by other vehicles gave him some pause, but he chose not to worry about them. Whatever happens, happens. _C'est la vie_, he thought philosophically. Tonight could the last time he would be truly free or it could be the beginning. With Dani as his lucky charm, he could not believe they would fail. 

They left the Subaru back near the wide clearing along the river. It would be quite a walk to the lodge, but Jacques did not want to take any chances of being seen. The snow was deep and untracked as they slogged toward the lodge. Their high insulated boots keep their feet dry and warm as did their ski suits. Warmth did not have to be big bulky or heavy. Even in the deep snow it was a pleasure to watch the graceful movements of Danielle's slender figure. 

Danielle froze at the edge of the lodge's clearing. Security lights hanging from the building's eaves brightly lit the grounds surrounding it. 

"What will we do now?" she asked. 

"Move quickly. There is no one around now. They may see us, but it will take them time to come. By then we will be gone. Do you know how to throw snowballs?" he asked. 

Danielle nodded with a laugh. "Of course. I have a brother. I had to learn how or I'd have been creamed every winter." 

"I want you to start throwing snowballs at the cameras we located from the pictures. Do not be obvious about it," he cautioned her. "Try to make it look like snow fell from above to cover the lens. He demonstrated by lobbing a snowball at snow laden branches above a camera hidden in a tree. The snow scattered down, covering the camera. 

It did take not them long to disable the cameras that covered the back door. True to her word Danielle was quickly able to cover the cameras with snow. Jacques had to admit to himself that perhaps she was even better at it than he was. Covering the cameras would not completely prevent their being detected, but it would at least make it harder for the police and Archer's men to figure out who was behind the heist. 

As before he quickly opened the back door and they were soon back in the great room. 

"We must work quickly, mon cheri," he said to Danielle. 

"Why?" 

"There is no telling what types of alarms there might be. It is always best to work quickly. Then there is less chance of being caught." 

Danielle gazed up at the picture above the massive fireplace. "Do you really think the painting is there?" she asked. 

"Oui," Jacques answered. "Watch." 

He sat down on one of the large leather chairs facing the fireplace. Running his fingers under the arm, he found a pair of small buttons. He pressed one. "Voila!" 

A light came on over the picture. 

"Nice," Danielle commented, critically studying the results. "Now I can see it even better. I still don't think it's a quality print," she said looking at the huntsman and his dogs. 

Jacques tsked, "Such an art critic we have, but perhaps mademoiselle might prefer something else." He pressed the other button. 

The light shifted, changed and as it did the huntsman and his dogs disappeared. In their place appeared the storm clouded skies of Toledo. Beneath them stood a father welcoming his long lost son. 

"It is known as the Prodigal Son," Jacques explained. 

"It's beautiful," Danielle breathed. "I agree, we can't let Archer keep it. This belongs to the world." 

"And that is what we are going to do. We are going to bring it back so that the rest of the world can enjoy it." 

Danielle smiled coyly at Jacques, "Do I detect a bit of an altruist in the cat burglar?" 

Jacques rose to his feet and bowed. "If I can do it and stay out of prison, of course. Especially when I have such a charming companion." 

"So, how are we going to get it down?" 

"The mantle above the fireplace is very wide," Jacques explained, "I will boost you up there. Then you will hand the picture down to me." 

Danielle looked at him doubtfully. "You sure you can lift me?" she asked. "I'm not that crazy about falling, you know." 

"Do not worry. I am very strong. You will be as a bird's feather in my hands," he answered with a grin as he laced his fingers together to give her a step up. 

With breathtaking quickness Danielle found herself standing on the broad mantle. It was far wider than she had expected, but that didn't make her feel any safer. 

"Now check the picture," Jacques told her. "See if there are any wires attached to it." 

Danielle gently ran her fingers around the picture. "Not that I can see," she replied. She eased the frame slightly away from the wall. "I can see some wires now. It looks like they're for the light, but I don't think I see anything else." 

"We will have to take the chance," Jacques answered. "Carefully detach the wire, then I want you to lift the painting off the wall and hand it down to me." 

"It's kind of heavy," Danielle cautioned. 

"Just be careful." 

After carefully removing the wires Danielle lifted the picture away from the wall, having to tiptoe precariously to free it from its hanger. 

"Be careful, mon cheri. I do not want to choose between you and the painting." 

"Thanks a heap," she muttered under her breath. 

Finally Danielle lifted the painting free. It was far heavier than she had expected. She tottered for a moment then caught her balance. Jacques took the painting from her hands as she lowered it down to him. A side of the painting struck one of the black pots sitting on the mantle, making it wobble. Danielle grabbed for it, losing her balance in the process. She was falling with the pot in her arms. 

Jacques caught her and the pot as well. 

"Are you okay?" he asked as he set her down on shaking legs. 

Danielle nodded as she placed the pot on the floor. "Yeah, I think so. What about the picture?" 

"It is safe," Jacques replied. 

He turned the picture face down and began to pry open the back. With great care he lifted it out, revealing the canvas back of the painting. Danielle handed him the large reinforced tube he had brought with him. Jacques rolled the painting and placed it gently into the tube. 

"Now we are done. All we have to do is make sure we can get away without being caught," he breathed in relief as he sealed the tube shut. 

"Uh, Jacques," Danielle said thoughtfully as she watched Jacques unroll the picture that had been in the tube and put it into the frame. "What would happen if we get caught or if Mr. Archer figures out we were the ones who took the painting?" 

Jacques shrugged. "He cannot bring the police into this, so I do not think we will have to worry about them." He again laced his fingers together. "Now we must put everything back the way we found them. I fear our time is quickly running out." 

Danielle obliged him by again stepping into his hands and again finding herself high up on the mantle. She managed to replace the frame without incident Finally everything was back in its place and Danielle found herself standing next to Jacques gazing at the masterpiece's replacement. 

"You still haven't really answered my question," she said. 

Jacques smiled making light of his own words, "The police will not be our concern. I think Monsieur Archer would chose to go with independent agents, those whose methods are not as concerned with justice as the police." 

Suddenly feeling chilled, Danielle wrapped her arms around herself. Jacques wrapped an arm around her, "Do not worry. You will be safe. If they choose to go after anyone, if will be me. But, ma jolie, men like Monsieur Archer do not like to admit that they have been bested. I think he will choose to ignore our little escapade rather than admit his own fallibility. After all that is the way the game is played, you lose some, you win some. C'est la vie." 

Danielle nodded at the replacement, "Even after that?" 

Jacques grin broadened as he escorted Danielle to the front door. "Where is the fun if we cannot beard the lion in his own den?" 

Behind them the picture was slowly disappearing behind the huntsman and his dogs. With a doubtful raising of an eyebrow, Danielle took one more glance at it. The stern mid-western couple of The American Gothic stared back at her. There was one slight difference from the original painting. The old man held his middle finger up in a defiant one-fingered salute. 

Back in the car Danielle sleepily leaned her head on Jacques shoulder. "I can't wait until we get back to Elaine's. All I want to crawl into bed and sleep until noon." 

"First we will have to replace the plates and return this car to its rightful owner," Jacques reminded her. 

"You're right," she said with a tired sigh, "At least we didn't wreck it." 

Jacques nodded in agreement. _At least not yet,_ he thought, spying in the rear view mirror a large 4 X 4 coming up fast behind them. It was going too fast for the icy road. It looked too purposeful for his taste. There no turn offs, nowhere to dodge the big truck coming up behind them. Suddenly gunfire stitched the trees to their right. Danielle screamed. There was no where to go. Except... 

Jacques swerved the Subaru off the road and down a short embankment. 

"Are you crazy?" Danielle screamed seeing ahead of them the icy surface of a small lake. "We can't make it. The ice is too thin this time of the year!" 

Jacques drove onto the lake's surface anyway. The Subaru skidded and slipped but still moved forward. The ice under its wheels seemed to groan under its weight, but held. The 4 X 4 truck stopped on narrow beach. It would be impossible for it to go around to the other side of the lake in time to catch up with the Subaru which was nearing the center of the lake. 

Jacques saw the 4 X 4 roar onto the icy surface. He pressed on the gas, but all they did was slide faster. There was no controlling the small car. All he could do was keep it heading forward in a straight line. The ice was groaning under the big truck's weight. Cracks crazed out from under its wheels. The truck's driver gunned forward, but that only made the cracks appear more quickly. Water seeped between the cracks making them wider. The ice under the Subaru was tipping as cracks appeared under its wheels. They were nearly to the other side. Behind them the big truck was vainly trying to make it back to the near shore. Its rear wheels slipped and splashed into the water. 

All thought of chasing Danielle and Jacques was forgotten. The big truck tipped and rocked as its tires spun and splashed, seeking solid ground. It could go no further and sank up to the middle of its high sides. The driver and his passenger were safe, but would have to wait to be rescued from the water sodden vehicle that had become a metal island in the middle of freezing cold water. 

"I can't believe it! We made it!" Danielle exclaimed happily. She laughed and hugged Jacques. Ahead of them was a broad highway and the promise of a good rest.   
  



	5. chapter five

**Chapter Five**

**Memories of the Past**

I 

"Are you going anywhere tonight?" John asked Lee. 

Lee flipped through a few TV channels before replying. "Why is it with all the channels we have there's still nothing good to watch?" 

"Maybe because you've been watching TV all day long for the past week," John commented. 

"I'm recuperating. That's what you do when you have a big hole in your shoulder blade," Lee growled as he flipped through a few more channels. 

"Does that mean you have to be grouchy too?" 

"What do you expect me to do? Sing and dance?" 

John shrugged. "Not really. It's just that a few days ago you practically had Danielle in tears, and you bite my head off every time I even say boo to you. I know it hurts, but . . . " 

"I'm fine. I just want to be left alone." 

"I kind of got that, but everybody's worried about you. Dad feels bad about what happened." 

"Tell him I'm okay. Tell everybody I'm okay. I just don't feel like talking to anybody right now." 

"What about your girlfriend? She's been asking about you. What do I tell her?" 

"I dunno. Tell her that I broke my arm or something." 

"Why don't you tell her yourself?" 

Continuing to flip through the TV channels, Lee glared angrily at the TV set. 

"Having doubts about the whole Green Hornet scene?" 

Lee shrugged, then winced. 

"Dad wouldn't blame you if you wanted to drop it." 

"Yeah, and let him think I'm not only a clumsy failure, but I'm also a gutless wonder," Lee answered bitterly. 

"I'm sure he would understand." 

"Did He tell you how he got all shot up those years ago?" 

"Yeah, he did," John answered quietly. 

"And that it's because of me that he's become the Green Hornet again?" 

"So I gather." 

"So what do you think he would think of me, if I fold the first time I get hurt?" 

"Still, I'm sure he'd understand . . . " 

Lee looked sharply at John. "He'd say he does, but that's not what he would think. I once called him a coward for not wanting to take up the Hornet again. Do you honestly think he'd have any respect for me, if I decide to quit now?" 

John shook his head. As much as his father would try to be understanding, he knew as well as Lee what the elder Reid would really think. 

"So what are you going to do?" 

"I don't know," Lee sighed placing the remote on the lamp table next to him. "I've been going through all of my father's philosophy books trying to find some words of wisdom, but I'm drawing a blank so far." 

"I know how you feel." 

"Do you? Have you ever come this close to being killed?" 

John nodded. "Yeah," he said very softly. "I wasn't hurt as badly as you, but only because I was very lucky." 

"What happened?" 

"I never told anybody about this . . . " 

"Why?" 

"Because Mom and Dad would've pulled me home in an instant." 

"So what happened?" 

"It was in Kahara. I was there covering their civil war. I had become friends with some of the guys at one of the newspapers there. The religious extremists threatened to kill anybody who didn't support their cause. Nobody dared oppose them in print, except for this one little newspaper. Hell, they were so small they were barely a level above the mimeograph. But they were the bravest people, I had ever met." 

John stared off into space, thinking. Remembering. "There was this one guy. He was born in the United States and even went to college here in this city, but he chose to go back to Kahara. He said he had to be where his roots were. He'd write editorials warning people about these extremists, warning them what kind of life they might face under a Muslim theocracy. It was one thing to reject the so-called Ugly American, but to reject all progress that's happened over the past several centuries . . . " John shook his head. "He was marked for death by the extremists." He fell silent, reluctant to relive the past. 

"What happened to him?" Lee gently prompted. 

"I was in the there at his newspaper, talking with him over some tea. You know they drink hot tea all the time?" he digressed, still gingerly dancing around the painful memory, "Even in the hottest weather. It's kind of like the way the English do. Except it's very sweet and it's spiced. It's very good. 

"One moment we were talking and laughing. His wife was pregnant with their first child. He was so happy about becoming a father. Here he was in a war-torn country and he was talking about a bright future for his child. 

"One moment. . . I still can't believe it. One moment he was alive. The next I was covered with his blood. Somebody had thrown a grenade through the door. I still have no idea why I wasn't killed. It was plain dumb luck. The small press I was sitting next to took some of the force of the blast in my direction. Otherwise, I would have been dead too. I got knocked on my ass and bruised and covered with shrapnel, and my friend . . . " 

John stared at his hands, seeing them covered in blood. "He died in my arms," he said very quietly. 

"I'm sorry," Lee said. 

"I felt so helpless. Here I am in the middle of a war, covered with my friend's blood, and what am I going to do about it? Just write about it? How can that be all I can do? What good is it? How can a story do anything about ending all the insanity? How does that give any meaning to my friend's life or death?" 

"What did you do?" 

"I got solidly drunk for a few days." John answered Lee's question before he could ask it, "Yeah, I know, Muslim country and all that, but Kahara City is like a lot of big Arabic cities, there's liquor if you know where to look for it. I did." 

He sighed, then continued, "Then after I woke up in some back alley after getting my ass beat in some bar fight, I wrote the best damned story I could about what happened and what I felt. I wrote about one of the finest men I had ever met." John barked a humorless laugh. 

"The story never appeared in Kahara. Nobody there was brave enough to print it. And here? It ran in the Sentinel. Dad wrote an editorial to go with it, but nobody gave a damn. And it sure as hell didn't do a damn thing about stopping the insanity in Kahara." 

"I thought you said you didn't mention this to your parents." 

John grinned lopsidedly, "Let's just say I left out the fact of how close I came to buying it." 

"And then you came home with Fatima." 

"Yeah. The first chance I get, I come running home with my tail between my legs, and you saw how that turned out." 

Lee nodded his understanding. "It must have been like a nightmare to see the Sentinel explode right in front of your eyes." 

"It was," John admitted. "All I could think of was my parents dying just like my friend." 

"So what do you intend to do now?" 

"I intend to do my damnedest to make sure that what happened in Kahara doesn't happen here. There's so much corruption here and so many people pretending that only they know the truth. There's demagogues telling people just what they want to hear, and then there's the politicians who are doing the exact same thing and destroying anyone who dares say thing different. Everybody's out to push their own damned agenda without giving a thought to what's good for everyone. 

"And hell, where it should be the job of the news media to provide balanced coverage and intelligent criticism we're reduced to light entertainment to satisfy corporate bean counters. We go from scandal to scandal, anything to increase circulation, while trying to stay out of lawsuits by not saying anything that might possibly make somebody angry or worse, upset the advertisers." 

"Your father doesn't do that." 

"No, he doesn't. Not as long as he can keep the Sentinel independent. But all it takes is another disaster. If we should ever have to accept any kind of outside financing or be forced into some kind of joint operating agreement, anything that destroys our financial and editorial independence, then the Sentinel will wind up as just another corporate mouthpiece. That's why I've been pushing to change how we do things, to modernize, expand, to get different sources of funding. We're vulnerable now. We need to make changes now on our own terms before we get into the shape where somebody else is the one calling the shots." 

Lee absently rubbed his aching shoulder. "I'm starting to see how the Green Hornet might play a part." 

John nodded. "It's a way for both of us to redeem ourselves." 

"But your father won't allow you . . . " 

"Not yet, but I'm working on it." 

"It'll take some time. He's a stubborn man." 

"Don't I know it." 

"Let me think about it," Lee said. 

"Sure. Now what about your girlfriend?" 

"Maybe it's time for me to get out of the house for a while." 

II 

In the shadows of the new Bank of Hong Kong building stood a small collection of buildings that were waiting for the newest round of the rehabilitation fever that was overtaking the city's Chinatown. For many years the younger generations had headed out to suburbia, rejecting the traditions of their parents as they grabbed for the brass ring of the American dream. Now their children were coming back to reclaim Chinatown and their heritage. Among them was the small group of actors assembled in an elaborate old theater that had once hosted Valentino silents subtitled in Chinese. 

Most of the actors had left after a long evening of rehearsal. Only two of them were left in the darkened theater. They were continuing an argument that had split the small group into two camps that were barely speaking to each other outside of the lines spoken in the play. 

"I told you he wasn't going to come!" Tommy Chong complained angrily as he paced in front of the stage. The dark-blue Mao suit and black horn-rimmed glasses only made him look more overweight and disheveled than he usually did. Hui Ying, a pretty round-faced Chinese girl with black hair cut in a short bob, watched him in disgusted silence. 

"I don't know why you even insist on having him!" he continued. 

"I told you before why we need him, Tommy," the girl replied finally, "We will fail if he doesn't join us." 

"I told you before, call me Chong Tan-ming. I have rejected the ways of the guai lo. I will not stoop to the ways of the barbarian west." 

Hui Ying rolled her eyes. "Give me a break. What're you going to do? Start dressing like some old-fashioned Chinese warlord in silk and a queue?" 

"Of course not. I am a man of the common people," Tommy boasted, "the people on whose backs the Emperors built their palaces." 

Hui Ying shook her head, "How typical. You have no idea what China is really like. The closest you've ever gotten is the 'made in China' label on your clothes. The only reason you've joined us is to piss off your rich father, the D.A." 

"That's not true. I believe in honoring the traditions of my ancestors, not like this Lee guy you're going out with. Hell, he's only half Chinese as it is." 

"That's the part that's important," Hui Ying replied. 

"He might look Chinese and he may know some Chinese martial arts, but his heart is not Chinese. You only want him because he's good looking." 

"That's it, isn't it? You're jealous." 

"No, I'm not," Tommy replied petulantly. "It's just that nobody is going to accept him, no matter who you say his ancestors are." 

"I think they will." 

"So when are you planning on telling him of your plans?" 

Hui Ying heard a knock at the door. "That's probably him now. No more of this until later," she hissed as she went to answer the door. 

"Lee," she said happily as she opened the door to let Lee in. Her face quickly fell when she saw that his arm was in a sling. "What happened?" 

"I was doing some yard work and fell on a broken branch that was sticking out of the ground," Lee answered. He quickly noted that the only other person left in the theater was Tommy Chong who had perched himself on the edge of the stage. "I'm sorry I'm so late." 

"You could've called," Tommy complained. 

"Forget it," Hui Ying said lightly, "I'm just glad you're here." 

"I guess you're going to have to find someone else for the part now that my arm's all messed up," Lee said as she escorted him down the shallow incline to in front of the stage. 

"No way," she said, "We can work that into the play with no problem at all. That will only make your character seem more courageous." 

Tommy rolled his eyes at Hui Ying's reply. "I'm outta here," he grumbled as he slid heavily off the edge of the stage. "Let me know when wonder boy here decides on a time when he might deign to join the rest of us for rehearsal. Might be nice to have your 'star' around to practice his part." He glared pointedly at Lee, "Unless, of course, you're too damn perfect to need to rehearse." 

"Now wait a minute," Lee said, grabbing at the angry young man as he pushed between him and Hui Ying, "If you don't like me in this production of yours, say so and I'll butt out." 

Hui Ying placed her hand on Lee's arm. "He didn't mean anything. He's just tired. It's been a long night. We're always chewing on each other when we're hammering out a new play. Things'll settle down once all the details are straightened out. Won't they, Tommy?" 

Tommy's jaw worked as he considered his reply. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you say." 

Hui Ying sighed tiredly at Tommy's retreating back. "Don't take him too seriously," she said to Lee. 

Lee shook his head. "He's got a point Hui Ying. I'm an outsider. I don't have a right to be in this play, especially as the star. I'm not an actor." 

"You're wrong. You're a natural. I can tell. I've seen a lot of people, like Tommy there, who figure that if they can memorize a few lines they're an actor. But they have to have something special, some kind of charisma that connects with the audience. I know you have that ability." 

"Aw, c'mon, be serious. Just because we're friends doesn't mean that I'm right for the part. After all it's mighty important. Like Tommy said, the character of your brother is too important for somebody out of the blue to take over. Especially somebody who can't devote themselves fully to the part. I got too much going on to get as deeply involved as I should." 

"Does that include being involved with me?" 

"No, of course not. It's just that I have a lot to do at the Sentinel. I'm just starting to learn my way around there and earn my keep. I don't want to screw up. I don't have a lot of time to show up for rehearsals. Tommy resents that and I'm sure a lot of the other people resent it too. It'd be a lot better if somebody who really deserved the part got it instead of me." 

"But Lee, it's important to me. It's my brother's story. You remind me so much of him. I just know you'd be perfect for the part. You don't have to rehearse with the group. It can be just you and me. We can go through your part every time we get together." 

"But . . . " 

"You don't understand, nobody really does. This isn't just a play, like something a bunch of high school kids throw together. This is about a cause, no, let me take it back, it's not about a cause, it is a cause. It was my brother's cause, my family's cause, and now it's mine. 

"People who have never lived in China under the communists cannot possibly understand how it is there. They don't know how it is to live under constant repression where the government controls everything in your life. Why, did you know, people are forced to have only one child, and worse, all too often when somebody finds out they're going to have a girl, they chose to abort the baby so they can try for a boy the next time? I might not have even been born except my father was a popular professor and his first wife had died. He was allowed to have another child by his second wife. That child was me. The government is involved in everything. Worse it's run by a bunch of fearful old men who are afraid of any challenge to their power. Good god, now they're persecuting people who are merely doing meditative exercises in the park." 

"But how can a play change anything?" 

"It can remind people of what happened at Tiananmen Square in 1989. Peaceful demonstrators were brutally murdered by government forces there. People like my brother were run over by tanks. Thousands were killed or maimed. Others like my parents went into hiding. They sent me here so I would be safe. I haven't seen my parents since I was a little girl. We have to remind people of what happened. We have to remind them that there is still repression going on and that it is very important that we continue to fight for our freedom." 

"Okay, I can see how it's so important to you," Lee said thoughtfully, "But I still don't see why you think I'm so important to your play. Wouldn't it be better if you had someone who was an experienced actor in the part? I'd hate to blow it for you because I can't act . . . " Lee raised his hand when Hui Ying started to retort, "Okay, maybe it'll turn out I can act, but still I don't want you to feel you have to place me in the starring role because of our relationship." 

Hui Ying sighed, "I can see I can't change your mind. At least not yet. Why don't we give it a try? You might surprise yourself. Why don't you give it and me a chance?" 

Lee shook his head. "Okay, I'll give it a shot." 

"Great, because you see, I do have an ulterior motive." 

"What's that?" 

"I want you to go with me when we take this to China." 

"China? You have got to be kidding. Don't you have any idea how dangerous that might be?" 

"Yes, I do. That's why I need you with me. I know you're the only one that has the courage to stand by me if things get rough." 

"Gee, I don't know, Hui Ying. Mr. Reid counts on me a lot at the Sentinel. I don't want to leave him in the lurch after all that he's done for me." 

"But don't you think your own people, the people of China, are more important?" 

Lee frowned doubtfully, torn between two worlds. 

Seeing his doubt, Hui Ying changed her tack. She squeezed his uninjured arm. "I didn't mean that way. I can see how important Mr. Reid and your work at the Daily Sentinel is to you. I don't want to imply that it's not important. But haven't you ever wondered what it would be like to go to China. Haven't you ever wondered about your father's origins?" 

"Yeah, I have," Lee admitted reluctantly, "I've always wanted to go to China to see where he came from. There was always some kind of mystery about it. But I don't want to make a big production out of it. I'd rather keep it kind of low key, if you know what I mean." 

Hui Ying smiled, "Maybe you're right. I'm probably pushing too hard. Why don't we see how everything goes with the play first before we make any kind of plans about going to China?" 

"I'd like that," Lee agreed. 

III 

After pulling up in front of his grandfather's house Tommy Chong nervously chewed on his thumbnail, trying to gather the courage to talk to the old man. For some unexplained reason he always gave Tommy the creeps. To most people no one seemed more ordinary than his grandfather, but there was something about the old man that made Tommy very uneasy. 

Just as the Bamboo Curtain fell his grandfather had fled with his wife and infant son for the United States. He left his Chinese name on the ship and as his feet touched the soil of America he had taken the plain American name of George, becoming known to everyone since then as George Chong. Most people only called him Mr. Chong. He was not one to tolerate the familiarity of being called merely by his first name. There were rumors that he had hidden a fortune in gold in the basket that his infant son had slept in. No one ever knew for sure. Only one thing for sure was that his grandfather had become a wealthy man and had put aside everything that connected him to China. 

George Chong had once explained to his grandson that one could not be taken seriously as a businessman outside of Chinatown if one was dressed as a Mandarin. Thus, he always appeared impeccably dressed in Armani suits, handmade Italian shoes and silk ties. Even when relaxing Tommy's grandfather always dressed in the best labels and of the finest materials. Like the white ranch-style house that sprawled among manicured lawns and well-trimmed hedges there was nothing to connect George Chong to his homeland. If not for the oriental cast of his features one would have thought his ancestors had come on the Mayflower instead of a battered steamer with a Hong Kong registry. 

Finally mustering his courage, Tommy climbed out of his car, slamming the door behind him loud enough to start the neighbors' dogs barking. The blonde butler did not seem surprised to find Tommy at the door even though it was late, nor did Tommy find that unusual. His grandfather kept late hours and often had visitors all hours of the night. He was led to the den where his grandfather was reading the New York Times while smoking a pipe filled with sweet-smelling tobacco, the very image of American urbanity from the shock of his thick white hair to the shine of his penny-loafers. 

Taking in the wrinkled blue Mao suit and cheap horn-rimmed glass, George Chong frowned. "I see you are still working with those actors." 

"Yes, Grandfather, I am." 

"I don't understand why you associate with them. Your father and I had envisioned a better future for you than acting." 

"I know Grandfather. I don't intend to do this forever. It's just temporary." 

"Temporary. I see, and what do you intend to do with your life? That is, once you have finished 'finding yourself'?" 

Tommy unhappily bowed his head. "I don't know," he answered very quietly. 

George Chong sadly shook his head. "Since I am sure you did not come to me to discuss your choice of careers, why are you here?" he asked. 

"I want to ask you a favor." 

"And what is the favor?" 

"There is a man I want you to take care of." 

"Take care of? In what manner?" 

"I know that you know people who can make other people disappear." 

"Grandson, I believe that you have been believing too many rumors about me." 

"I know you have dealings with many powerful people, including those who can remove 'obstacles'." 

"I see, and who is this man and how has be become an obstacle to you?" 

"There is a girl . . . " 

"One of the actors?" 

"Yes . . . " 

"The activist?" 

"Yes." 

"I take it then that this unfortunate man is competing with you for her affections?" 

"Yes, Grandfather." 

"I do not make people disappear simply because my grandson is jealous. If you cannot earn the girl's affection on your own, then you are unworthy of them." 

"But Grandfather, he could be valuable to you, or to some of your business associates." 

"How?" 

"He works for Britt Reid of the Daily Sentinel." 

George Chong snorted. "You want an employee of the Daily Sentinel to disappear? I don't think that would be wise. Mr. Reid places too much value on his people. It would cause more trouble than it would be worth." 

"This man is the son of a man who was Mr. Reid's valet." 

"Worse yet, unless they parted enemies. Which I doubt." 

Tommy sighed in frustration. This wasn't going well at all. Gathering his muddled thoughts, he tried again. "Once there was an emperor of China . . . " 

"I am fully aware of that, grandson . . . " the old man said testily. 

"It is said that he died childless. That the last emperor died leaving no one behind him to take the peacock throne." 

"That is true, although there were rumors . . . " Tommy's grandfather began thoughtfully. "But surely those were only rumors." 

"What if they weren't rumors? What if is true that there was an heir? That the baby was taken away to safety. What if the child survived to adulthood?" 

George Chong shook his slowly. "There are too many if's. I don't see what this . . . , this fairy tale has to do with you." 

"Hui Ying believes those rumors to be true. She says she has proof that the emperor did have a son, who in turn had a son of his own." 

"And this rival of yours is the man she believes to be the true heir to the peacock throne?" 

"Yes, Grandfather. She wants him to return with her to China. She wants him to help lead a revolution against the communists." 

"Impossible. It's been too many years. No one would follow someone merely because he claims to be the grandson of the last emperor of China." 

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Do you think the communists would want to take that chance?" 

"I doubt it. They are not the types to ignore even the slightest threat to their hold over the Chinese people." 

"And surely Grandfather, they would pay dearly for the information that would lead them to this potential threat." 

"So if arrangements were made with certain people for this young man to disappear, not only would I prosper, you would be free to pursue this young woman you so greatly desire." 

"That is so grandfather. We would both benefit." 

George Chong nodded thoughtfully to himself. "I will give this some thought." 

"When will I know your decision?" Tommy asked eagerly. 

"When the time is right, I will let you know. Now, it is late, I believe it is time for you to go home before your father worries." 

Tommy bowed to his grandfather, trying hard not to show how happy he was, "I am glad I could come up with something that will benefit both of us." 

"I'm sure you are," George replied, not as sure of it as his grandson. 


	6. chapter six

**Chapter Six**

**Framed**

I 

The girl nervously paced in the lobby of the Grand Hotel. She held a slender leather portfolio protectively in front of her like it was a shield. With pink-streaked golden hair that tumbled down to her knees, a slender small-breasted figure and a short pale green flowered diaphanous dress she looked more like a lost fairy than a real life girl. She stopped her pacing for a moment to check her watch, then continued her pacing for a few minutes longer. Again she checked her watch. Not believing that so little time had passed since she had last checked it she pulled if off her wrist and gave it a shake. 

Finally with a sigh she gave up her worried pacing, and headed for the sunken bar in the center of the hotel's huge atrium under the five story waterfall. 

"I'll have a Brandy Alexander," she said to the bartender in a soft Irish accent. 

"Looks like you're waiting for someone," he commented as he handed her the drink and collected the money for it. 

She nodded slightly with a small smile that made the bartender wonder if she was really the 23 her driver's license said she was, "Yes, well, I'm not really waiting for him, well, I guess I am, it's just that he doesn't know I'm waiting for him." 

"Oh?" 

"Yes, well, you see I know he's going to be here, but he doesn't know that I'm going to be here." 

"So it's a surprise." 

She nodded harder, "Yes, it's going to be a big surprise." A grin appeared on her face only to quickly disappear under a cloud of worry. 

"Is it going to be pleasant surprise?" 

"Well, no, well, yes, well, maybe, you see I think he'll be happy to see me at first." 

"But then?" 

She brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen over her shoulder with a hand that slightly trembled. For the first time the bartender noticed a yellowing bruise at the point where her jaw met under her right ear. "It's always hard when you have to break up with someone," she explained. 

"Is that where you got the bruise?" 

She nodded. "He didn't mean to. He's very nice man, you know. He's very sweet most of the time. And he's so handsome. Even for a guy his age, he's awfully well built, and he's so sexy." 

"But . . . " 

"Well, you see, he was drinking. He's got this bad leg that sometimes hurts a lot, and well, we got to arguing. 'bout nothing really, 'cept I was wondering if he was going to really divorce his wife, and well, he got mad, you know," she explained in a rush of words. 

"If you ask me, you're better off without the guy," the bartender suggested. 

"Maybe, except, you know, when a guy pays for your place and gives you an allowance as big as what he's giving me, well, it's kind of hard to say no to all that." 

"But still if a guy roughs you up . . . " 

"He doesn't do it all the time. Only when he gets to drinking and that's only when he's hurting really bad." 

"But it sounds like you finally got the courage to break it off with him." 

"Yeah," she said, the grin lightening up her face like a ray of sunshine. "I found a new guy. He's so cute, and best of all he's single. He doesn't have much money, but he says he loves me." 

She glanced down at her watch, "Do you have the time? I don't think my watch is working." 

The bartender checked his own watch, "You have right time, it's 3:30. That's a nice watch," he said, admiring the band of pink mother of pearl flowers and yellow citrine. 

"Yeah, my new boyfriend made it for me," she said happily. "Oh, there he is," she said spotting a man heading into the hotel's restaurant that opened out into the atrium. 

The bartender, turned around to see a tall grey haired man pause at the hotel's entrance before going in. "Say isn't that Britt Reid, the guy who owns the Daily Sentinel?" 

"Uh huh," she said as she gathered up the leather portfolio and slid off the barstool. 

The bartender shook his head as he watched the girl hurry over to the restaurant, nearly skipping as she went. 

II 

Britt felt himself drift out of sleep. Digging himself deeper into the covers, he held on to the delicious dream of the soft form pressed to his, the way the curves of breasts and hips felt under his hands, the wine and sweet cherry taste of the lips that pressed so hungrily to his, the way the red hair brushed against his naked skin. Still half in the dream he was again aroused, remembering how hands expertly caressed his body bringing pleasure again and again. 

His brows knitted in confusion as he started to drift awake again. Red hair, hair the color of an Irish setter in the fall, or was it blonde hair, streaked in pink? Still didn't make any sense. Should be blonde, yes, but strawberry blonde, red-gold with threads of silver intermixed. He shook his head, regretting it immediately as pain shot from the nape of his neck and settled like an evil troll over his eyebrows. He groaned. Nothing felt right. He blearily opened one eye to see that he was in a hotel room. _That's not right,_ he thought, _should be at home._

He raised his left arm to look at his watch, 11 o'clock. _What the hell?_ A tiny slit of light seeping through the drapes was the only clue that he had that it was eleven A.M., not PM. Somewhere along the way he had lost almost half a day. Again he shook his head trying to clear it. It didn't help. It only made his head hurt worse. _My God, it was real,_ he suddenly realized_,_ as he ran his fingers over the deep scratches on his chest_, it wasn't a dream. _He squeezed his eyes tightly shut as if he could reawaken in his own home and in his own bed. __

_Casey, _he whispered half -aloud as he pulled himself up. _How is she going to take this?_

He groped for a lamp on the wall above the bedside table and turned it on. Even though he expected it, the brightness of the light stabbed into his aching brain like a knife. For a moment he could only stare aghast at the chaotic mess in the room. It looked like a hurricane had struck. Torn clothing and a shredded bedspread were strewn all over the floor, along with overturned chairs and a fallen floor lamp. Dark stains were splattered over the clothing and the floor. Britt pulled himself shakily out of the bed and carefully examined the stain on a piece of the bedspread. His stomach lurched when he realized it was blood. 

It was everywhere including the sheets of the bed he had been lying on, and to his horror on his hands and body. He knew that there was no way the scratches across his chest could have bled enough to have caused the amount of splattering he saw around him. Realizing that since it didn't come from him, it must have come from someone else, he started frantically searching the room, throwing up the scattered clothing and bedclothes. There had to be a body or something to account for all that blood. 

There was nothing. Britt didn't know whether to be relieved or worried. He sat back down on the bed, trying to think. It was a set up, of that he was sure. A frame, with him as the patsy, but if that was true, there should be a body. There wasn't. Why? It didn't make sense. For a frame to work he'd have to be found with a dead body, but there wasn't one. 

Britt shook his head. He didn't have the slightest idea of what was going on, but he did know that he couldn't be found in this room. He had to get out of there and fast. Unfortunately his all of clothing was torn and bloodstained. There was no way he could get through the lobby unnoticed, he would have to call home and get someone out to the hotel with a change of clothes for him. 

He heard the rap on the door just as he reached for the phone. 

"Security," came a man's voice just before the door opened. 

III 

"C'mon, Reid, let's go over it one more time," Detective Morrisey said tiredly. He knew Reid wasn't going to say anything different from what he had said several times before. _But you never know_, he thought, _sometimes when someone gets tired enough, or in the publisher's case, angry enough, little inconsistencies start showing up._ Inconsistencies that could make or break a case. 

"As I've told you before Detective, I have no idea what happened. I woke up in the hotel room, stark naked, with a blazing headache and blood all over the place. I swear I didn't hurt anyone." 

"So you don't remember the girl that you went up to the room with?" 

Reid closed his eyes for a moment, trying to keep his temper. "I remember the girl," he said slowly as if he was talking to the village idiot, "She approached me in the restaurant. She said she had some important information to show me. She had a leather portfolio with her." 

"But she didn't show you what was in them?" Morrisey asked. 

"No, she didn't. She said she wanted to talk about it where it was more private." 

"And then what?" 

"I paid the waitress, got up from the table and followed the girl up to her hotel room." 

"And then?" 

"We had something to drink and . . . " 

"And?" 

"And then everything gets really foggy." 

"Foggy," Morrisey pounced on the word, "What do you mean 'foggy'? Foggy sounds like you remember something." 

"I don't remember anything," Reid insisted through clenched teeth. 

"Yes, you do, you remember something. It might be foggy, but you remember something." 

"I don't remember. All I remember is being with the girl in the hotel room, I think, I don't know. I don't know if I was dreaming things or if it really happened." 

"Okay, so it was like a dream. Tell me about it." 

Reid shook his head, "No, I don't know. I don't remember." 

"So you're trying to expect us to believe that somebody drugged you, murdered the girl and set you up for a frame up?" 

"It has to be." 

"If that's the case, why wasn't a body left?" 

"I don't know, but if I killed the girl, where's her body?" 

"You tell me." 

"I don't know," Reid hissed. 

Morrisey tossed a manila folder in front of Reid, "Take a look at this stuff. This is what was found in the portfolio. They're receipts for an apartment uptown and credit card receipts in your name." 

The publisher looked through them, "They may be in my name, but I didn't pay these. Somebody else did it in my name. It wasn't me. I swear that I've never heard of this 'Christy Isaacs' before." 

"She told the bartender at the Grand Hotel that she knew you really well. She told him that you had been paying for her apartment, and for her upkeep because she was your lover. She said she was going to give you the heave ho because she was tired of you roughing her up all the time." 

"I don't know the girl," the publisher insisted, saying each word slowly, his anger starting to seep out. 

Morrisey leaned over the publisher, glaring into the man's pale blue eyes. The D.A. had insisted that they only give Reid a towel to cover his nakedness with the idea that the man might feel more vulnerable. Big mistake. If Reid had been an underweight accountant type or grossly overweight, it might have worked. However if anyone felt uncomfortable it was Morrisey. The publisher was a big man, well muscled with a deeply tanned scarred hide. The detective had the feeling that Reid could kill him with his bare hands if he had the mind to. 

It was more than Reid's physical power that gave Morrisey pause. He could work around that. He had come across men much larger than Reid before. Even Reid's power in the community didn't phase him. Perversely, he relished the idea of bringing somebody in Reid's privileged position down a peg or two. 

What bothered him, what made him want to look away were Reid's ice blue eyes that seemed to change color even while you were looking into them. They were the kind of eyes that seemed to examine a person's soul down to the tiniest detail. They were the eyes of a man who did not back down. Morrisey forced himself to look into those disturbing eyes. He was not going to be the one to back down. Not this time. 

"You know what I think?" Morrisey said, continuing his attack, "I think you had this little chick in your back pocket the whole time. I think you were keeping her on the side for whenever you felt like a midday snack or when the old ball and chain didn't feel like putting up with you. I think a guy like you needs to knock women around like the Isaacs girl once in a while, just to prove you still had the cajones to rule the roost. But little Christy suddenly found herself a young rooster who could not only satisfy her better than you, also didn't rough her up whenever he had a bad day. 

"So she met you at the restaurant to give you the news. 'Course you acted like it wasn't a big deal, so for old times sake you took her up to the hotel room for a roll in the hay. So when did you decide to off her? Was it when she gave you the kiss off? Did you take her up to the room, planning to murder her then? Or was it after you had finished screwing her, and decided that if you couldn't have her, nobody would? Or was it after she showed you this?" Morrisey said he tossed down his ace in the hole. 

The publisher stared aghast at the picture in front of him. It was an ultrasound of a fetus. 

"Did she tell you that it was yours and that she was going to sue for support? Were you afraid of what would happen if your wife found out?" 

Reid shook his head. " I have never cheated on my wife. I have never met that girl. I have never had sex with her," he insisted angrily as he rose to his feet. 

Sensing his partner behind him reaching for his gun, Morrisey moved between Weston and the publisher. He wanted to make sure that his young partner wouldn't make the mistake of overreacting and shooting their prime suspect; especially if it turned out the man was innocent. 

However, he couldn't risk losing the head of steam Reid was building. Anger was what he aiming for. In anger there is truth. "I think you're a freaking liar," Morrisey growled, "I think you murdered that girl after you screwed her brains out. Then to cover for it, you had some buddies of yours pick up the body and then you made it look like it was part of a frame up. I think you're a god damn liar and a cold-blooded murderer." 

"I did not kill that girl," Reid gritted, his voice shaking in barely suppressed rage. 

"Then tell me what happened to her." 

"I don't know." 

"Liar. You do know." 

"No, I don't." 

"Yes you do. You saw something. You know something. You said everything's foggy. Tell me what it is," the detective insisted. "If you didn't kill the girl, if you want to me to believe you, tell me. I don't care whether or not you remember it clearly, just tell me what you remember." 

The detective could see the muscle in Reid's jaw twitch as the wheels started turning in his brain. Morrisey pressed, "You've spent all your life observing and reporting. You're a trained observer. I'd believe your half-formed impressions more than somebody else's positive declarations. Tell me, Reid." 

Reid's blue eyes narrowed in thought. _I'm getting somewhere, _Morrisey thought, _tough old bastard's thinking it out. Tough, an old bastard . . . scarred . . . _ The idea that Morrisey had been playing with ever since his last encounter with Reid and his family came to the forefront. 

"Why don't you go get yourself some coffee?" he said to his partner. 

"But . . . " 

"And get me some while you're at it, too." 

"I can't leave you alone with the prisoner. That's not proper procedure," Weston protested. We could get into a hell of a lot of trouble." 

"Just do it," Morrisey snapped, keeping his eyes locked on Reid's, "If nobody's knows. It didn't happen." 

Weston looked between the older detective and the publisher. "Okay," he finally said, realizing that Morrisey needed to have a few minutes alone with the suspect. Sometimes there were things done or said during questioning that shouldn't be witnessed. 

Morrisey waited until he heard the door lock behind him. He pressed the recorder button to off. This was going to be off the record. 

"This has to do with the Green Hornet, doesn't it? Whoever set this up knows that you're the Green Hornet. Don't they?" Morrisey demanded, hoping that he could get Reid to trust him. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Reid replied through clenched teeth. 

"Look, Reid, I've been watching you and your whole family ever since last Christmas. I have a damn good idea that you're the Green Hornet. Especially after that run in with Hakenkrueze. The Green Hornet has a knock down, drag out fight with a guy who thinks he's some kind of Aryan superman and then I see you the next day looking like you went six rounds with the World Champ. And you tell me you slipped on some ice? C'mon Reid, a guy like you don't slip on ice, and you sure as hell wouldn't fall on your face. There's only one way you could've gotten those bruises, and that was in a fight. A big one. Like one with Hakenkrueze. As the Green Hornet." Morrisey could see the wheels continuing to turn in Reid's head. 

"Do you think your case is so weak you have to accuse me of being the Green Hornet?" Reid asked suspiciously. 

_Damn, _Morrisey thought, _Wrong answer._ "No, Reid, that's not it. All I want is the truth. I want to find out what happened to that girl. Don't you realize if you tell me what happened we can get whoever is behind this? If this girl is dead, don't you want the people who did it punished?" he said, hoping to appeal to the publisher's sense of justice. 

"If you believe I am the Green Hornet, why haven't you pursued it?" Reid asked. 

"I have been pursuing it, but on my own time. I'm keeping it on the QT until I'm sure of my facts. I don't believe in making any kind of accusations until I'm sure of what I got. I'm not even sure if the Green Hornet is a crook or at least not yet. Some of the stuff I've been looking it is making me wonder about that," Morrisey admitted. "Tell me what you remember and I'll see what I can do for you." For good or bad, Morrisey could see that Reid was starting to cool off. Problem was Reid was smart and very sharp. Too sharp to make any mistake he could take advantage of. 

"Okay, Morrisey, Let's go over this just for the sake of argument," Reid began reasonably, "Let's just say I tell you who it is, or who I think I recognize as one of the people who was in that room with that girl and me. You bring in this person who may wind up confessing to what happened, unlikely if you ask me, but anyway maybe you put on enough pressure and this person talks. Let's say that person also has evidence that proves that I am the Green Hornet. You wind up solving this case and as an extra bonus, get the Green Hornet. Lucky you. And where the hell do you think that leaves me and my family? 

"I'll tell you. For beginners forget the Sentinel. I've been through it once already. The Sentinel will be toast. Its reputation, something I've spent nearly my entire life establishing will go directly into the dumpster. People wouldn't even want to line their birdcages with it, never buying and reading it. So my people will wind up on the streets. 

"They're the lucky ones," Reid continued as he paced the room, "It's my family who will suffer the worse. I have faith they'll make do with whatever resources they're left with if we lose the Sentinel, but you have to realize the Green Hornet has a lot of enemies. Hakenkrueze is just one of the latest, but like him they all want revenge. Now they all can't take it out on the Hornet, especially since I'm sure at that point he'd be in prison. So who do you think is left?" Reid demanded, looking the detective in the eye. 

Morrisey lowered his eyes, imagining the bleak future Reid was outlining. 

Reid wasn't through. "And what about the Green Hornet? Like I said, he has a lot of enemies, and most of them are in prison. Where they wound up because of him. Do you remember that prison riot back in Santa Fe, New Mexico? I do. It wasn't pretty. There were very few pictures from it we could publish in the paper. Not without sickening people at their dinner tables. The people who were under protective custody were the first to go. Horribly. The Green Hornet wouldn't survive more than a day in prison and it would be a very bad way to die. 

"So you want me to tell you who I might have recognized in that room? Why? Even if this case does go to court and I get convicted, and I damn well promise you I'll fight tooth and nail the entire time of the trial, I'll be sent to prison as Britt Reid. And that's a damn sight better than going there as the Green Hornet, I can tell you that. I probably won't last there very long, but if I do get killed, it'll be a shiv in the back, and that'll be a hell of a lot better than what the Green Hornet would get." 

Morrisey chewed the inside of his lip. "So you aren't going to tell me," he said with a tired sigh. 

Reid nodded. "That's right. I can't." 

"Then you're screwed." 

"I know." 

A quick rap on the door broke the tension between the two men. "Detective Morrisey," the guard said as he entered the interrogation room, "Mr. Reid's lawyer is here." 

Morrisey saw ex-D.A. Frank Scanlon standing behind the guard. "Mr. Scanlon, you're going to represent Mr. Reid?" he asked. 

"Yes, just because I've been representing the State for most of my career doesn't mean I can't do defense," Scanlon said as he took the detective's hand in greeting. Scanlon frowned noticing that Reid wore nothing but a towel around his waist. "Why wasn't my client provided with decent clothing?" he demanded. 

"It was the D.A.'s idea," Morrisey answered. 

"I see," Scanlon responded. "I will, of course, protest this untoward treatment of my client. I want Mr. Reid provided with a clean change of clothing and a chance to take a shower before our interview." 

IV 

Frank sat across from Britt at a scarred wooden table, the same one he had sat at many times before while questioning suspects during the years he was the D.A. Although it had always been his biggest fear that Britt would be caught as the Green Hornet, he never expected to find himself defending Britt against a murder accusation. Not after all these years. 

Despite himself, he was shocked at the publisher's appearance. Britt had been given a chance to shower, and shave and was now dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit. However, he looked ten years older than his real age. His face was lined with exhaustion and there was a worrying grey cast beneath the publisher's normally deep tan. Frank was uncomfortably reminded of Britt's father. Many years ago, Henry Reid had been convicted for a murder that he had not committed and had died soon afterwards. Frank threw off the dread with a subconscious shiver. He'd do everything in his power to stop history from repeating itself. 

Although the publisher's hands were currently still, Scanlon noticed red welts where he had been worrying the manacles around his wrists. "How are you feeling?" he asked. 

"Fine," Britt said bitterly, "Considering I've been poked and prodded and groped in places my own doctor wouldn't touch. It was like my entire body was a crime scene. There were so many pictures taken of me that they could fill an album. I wouldn't be surprised if they wind up in some tabloid like the Clarion. Crawford would have a field day with them." 

Frank shook his head tiredly with a sigh. "What happened?" he asked. 

The publisher closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts. He rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly with one hand as the other one trailed along bound by the manacles that slowed his movement as if they weighed tons instead of a few pounds. 

"I've read Morrisey's report, but I want to hear about it in your own words," Scanlon explained. 

"The girl, she said her name was Christy Isaacs, came to my table in the restaurant. She said she had some important information for me and didn't want to talk about it in public," Britt began. 

"What did she look like?" 

"Young, pretty. She was about five five, one ten, maybe a bit less, early to mid twenties at the most. Big blue eyes, small breasts, slender figure, spoke with a slight Irish accent, hair down to her knees." A brief uplift of the corner of his mouth appeared. "A natural blonde, except for dark pink streaks on the upper layers of her hair. She looked like one of those street kids near the university. Sweet, but not too smart." 

Scanlon checked the description on his sheet of paper. It matched what the bartender had given. "Did you see any marks, say bruises or cuts or anything else?" 

Britt nodded, looking less tired. The investigator inside him overcoming his weariness. "Yes, there was a bruise on her right jaw, right under her ear." He showed the position, again one hand enslaved to the other. "There was also a bruise on her upper right arm, a big one, probably made when someone grabbed her," he continued. 

Scanlon rubbed his own jaw in thought. "You usually lead with your right when you fight, don't you?" he asked. 

Britt nodded, "Most of the time. Kato used to give me hell for it, he said I should try to vary my technique more, but . . . " He shrugged instead of finishing his sentence. 

"If it works, why change it," Scanlon finished for him. 

Britt nodded. 

Scanlon tapped the table for a few moments in thought. "So whoever hit the girl was probably left-handed." 

"That's my guess." 

"Anything else distinctive about the girl? Anything about what she was wearing? Jewelry, necklaces, anything like that?" 

"She kept on fiddling with her watch like she was nervous, or worried about the time," Britt replied. " It was a handmade job with pink mother of pearl flowers and yellow faceted stones, probably yellow crystal or citrine." 

Frank checked the listing of what was found at the crime scene. No watch. No body either. 

"What happened after you met the girl in the restaurant?" 

"Like I said, she didn't want to talk in the restaurant. She said she had a room in the hotel and wanted to talk there." 

"Rooms at the Grand are expensive, do you think she could've afforded one?" Frank asked. 

Britt shrugged. "Not at first thought, no, but some of these kids who go around in rags are very rich, or at least their parents are." 

"Do you think she was?" 

"Hard to tell," Britt admitted. 

Frank checked his paper again. "The hotel said it was paid for by a credit card. In your name. Are you missing any?" 

Britt shook his head. "Nope." 

"Have any idea where she might've gotten one in your name?" 

"Might have been issued in my name under false pretenses," Britt suggested. 

"That would take a lot of preplanning to do that." 

"Sure would," Britt agreed. 

Frank continued, "So you went up to the room with the girl. What happened then?" 

"We sat at one of those small tables you see in hotel rooms and went over the papers the girl had." 

"Did she have the papers in anything?" 

"Yes, it was a brown leather portfolio, slender with a zipper. I don't remember seeing any brand names, you know, like Gucci or whatever." 

Frank checked the evidence list again. A portfolio was listed matching Britt's description. And the bartender's. "Do you remember what was on those papers?" 

"Looked like your normal conspiracy type stuff. You know, the evil government is hiding secrets about a crash landing in Roswell, Area 51. That kind of stuff. It might be okay for the Clarion but not for the Sentinel." 

"Did you tell her that?" 

"As gently as I could, yes." 

"And then?" 

"She got a little weepy, but I tried to be as easy on her as I could," Britt explained. 

"So you're saying that what you were shown was nothing like what the police found in it." 

"That's right, especially the ultrasound." 

"Morrisey showed you that?" 

Britt nodded. 

Frank studied Britt for a few moments. He'd known the publisher long enough to recognize when something was bothering him. "So the girl was getting weepy, what did you do about it?" 

Britt hesitated. 

"Britt, I need you to be as honest with me as you can be. Remember I am going to have to defend you. The more information I have the better. Did you try to comfort her?" 

"Well, yes. She reminded me of Danielle a bit. Well, not physically, it's just that she seemed to be so young and vulnerable." 

"What did you do?" 

"I held her in my arms. She was crying, you know, and that's usually the way to stop a woman crying." Again there was slight wry lift of the corner of his mouth. "At least that's the theory, but damned if I've ever seen it work." 

"So you held her in your arms . . . " Frank checked Morrisey's statement. There was nothing in it about Britt hugging the girl. "Then what?" 

Again Britt hesitated. 

"Britt . . . " 

"I don't know." 

"Britt . . . " 

The publisher sighed. "I was starting to feel dizzy, light headed . . . " 

The ex-D.A. frowned. "Did you eat or drink anything while you were with this girl?" 

"We had some drinks while we were going over the papers." 

"Did the two of you have the same thing?" 

Britt nodded, "She had some cans of Diet Coke and a bucket of ice." 

"Did you drink from the can or did she pour it into glasses?" 

"Into glasses." 

"From the same can?" 

"No, she poured her own, and then poured mine from another can and gave that can to me." 

Frank made a note to ask about glasses and cans of soda and to make sure that if found that they were tested for drug residues. He also noted that some blood had already been drawn from Britt and made another note to make sure that it was tested for drugs and for the results to be given to him. 

"So there's a possibility you might have been drugged." 

"Not a possibility. A surety," Britt answered. 

"So you were hugging the girl, and you were feeling light headed. Then what happened?" He could see Britt was hesitating again. The publisher was definitely avoiding something. Something he had told the detective he didn't remember. "We've been friends a long time, Britt," he reminded him, "Now's not the time to start getting secretive with me, especially since your life is literally in my hands." 

Britt sighed, avoiding Scanlon's eyes. "She started to take off my clothes." 

"She what?" 

"She started to take off my clothes," Britt said in a tight voice. He frowned, trying to capture a memory. "I think something must have gotten spilled on my clothes. Maybe my drink . . . " 

"And you didn't resist?" 

Britt shook his head. "No, I didn't. I felt like I wasn't in control of my actions. I was aware of what was happening but I couldn't do anything about it." 

"So she took off your clothes, and did she take off hers as well?" 

"Yes," Britt said through clenched teeth. 

"Then what happened?" 

"Do I have to paint you a picture?" Britt bit out. 

"So you had sex?" 

"Yes." 

"And afterwards?" 

Britt shook his head. "I'm not sure. I don't know if what I remember is real or some kind of terrible fantasy. I was nearly totally out of it by then." 

"What do you remember?" 

"Someone else came into the room and starting arguing with the girl. I think they were behind schedule or something. I remember a bright light moving around just beyond my field of vision. It might have been on a video camera. I couldn't see the cameraman though." 

"What did this person who was arguing with the girl look like?" 

Britt shook his head again. "I'm not sure, Frank. I mean it. I might be totally off base with this," he warned. 

"You recognized this person?" 

Britt pressed a hand against his chest. Frank could see the angry tip of a nasty scratch showing above the vee of the jumpsuit's neckline. 

"I think it was Shannon de la Culebra." 

"You sure?" 

"No, I'm not sure. That's my whole point. I don't know if it was really her or not." 

"Okay, so she argued with the girl, then what happened?" 

"Then she came over where I was on the bed . . . " 

"Shannon . . . " 

"Or somebody resembling her . . . " 

"And?" 

"I remember her smiling at me. She was very pleased with herself. She took off her clothes, climbed onto the bed and straddled me." 

Frank's eyebrows rose. "Now you said that you couldn't control your movements, but you were still able too . . . " 

"Yes." 

"So you had sex with her, too." 

"No, she had sex with me. There's a difference." 

_But not one that most people would swallow_, Scanlon thought. He continued, "I take it that's when you got those scratches." 

"Yes." 

Frank sighed and grimaced. "And do you remember her saying or doing something that was significant?" 

"Other than screaming and moaning in pleasure?" Britt gritted. 

Frank rolled his eyes. "Yes." 

"She leaned down and whispered in my ear that she knew who I was and that this time she had me right where she wanted me. Then she scratched my chest. Slowly." 

Frank winced at the thought. Those scratches looked damned deep. "What do you think she meant by that?" 

"She had a run in with the Green Hornet, remember?" 

"I do, but . . . " Frank said, not quite understanding. 

"That time the Green Hornet got away before she could get any further than the waistband." 

"But you think she recognized your scars." 

"That's what her husband and Crawford of the Clarion were harping on during the Rivers show when I appeared on it last fall." 

"So if she recognized the scars, she probably thinks she now knows who the Green Hornet is." 

"Not think, knows," Britt pointed out. 

"Did anything else happen? Anything that might explain why there's blood but no body." 

Britt shrugged. "By the time Shannon got through with me, I was pretty much out of it. I might have heard some more arguing, maybe some screaming, but I can't be sure." 

"But nothing to explain what happened to the girl?" 

"Nothing." 

Frank checked his notes and ran over the statements he had from the bartender, the hotel personnel and the results of Morrisey's interrogation. _ Not much to go on. Only hope is the results of the drug screen when they come back._ "Okay," he finally said, "You said you were drugged." He raised his hand when Britt started to say something. "I believe you, but we're going to have prove that. Anyway, do you think the drug was something that could have caused you to hurt the girl?" 

"Oh, Frank," Britt said, disgustedly shaking his head. "You know me better than that. I'm not a killer, especially of young women. The only time I've ever harmed anyone was in self defense." 

"I know that, but could you have been given some kind of hallucinogen that made you think you were fighting something or someone else? Someone you had to kill in self defense?" 

Britt shook his head. "That wouldn't explain why there's no body." 

"Maybe Shannon had it taken it way." 

"Why?" 

Frank shrugged. "Damned if I know. Another possibility could be that the girl escaped." 

"Then why didn't anybody see her? If she's still alive why hasn't she tried to contact the police?" 

"Could be she's in no shape to go to the police. There was a lot of blood there. It had to come from somewhere." Frank suggested. 

"Have any Jane Doe's shown up at any of the hospitals or anyone that might fit the girl's description?" Britt asked. 

Frank made a note. "I don't have any information about that yet. That might be a good place to start. I'll have my people look into that." 

"So what are my chances?" Britt asked. 

"Under most circumstances I think I could get you out in a few hours on your own recognizance. After all there's no body and you do have a lot of ties here. Family, business, things that usually are considered when setting up bail." 

"But . . . " 

"Circumstances aren't normal. The judge who's been assigned to your case is Gayle Harding. She's called 'No Bail' Gayle for good reason. She's a damn tough judge and hates to be accused of playing favorites. Your position in the community is going to work against you in this case. Just to prove she's above influence, she's going to make sure you don't get off easily. She's already stated this is not going to turn out to be another O.J. trial or like that Binion Case in Las Vegas. She's going to make sure you stay behind bars for the duration. And she's not going to allow any kind of leeway when it comes to the funny stuff either Like that time you were framed years ago. Slugging the D.A. and running off is not going to go over real well." 

A wry smile appeared briefly. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Of course that's not saying that the current D.A. doesn't need to be slugged." 

Frank frowned sternly at Britt. "That attitude doesn't help you a whole hell of a lot either. You've gone out of your way to make Chong's life hell. Now he has you where he wants you." 

"C'mon, Frank, you know as well as I he's a pompous bastard. The guy goes on about how his parents emigrated to the states without a penny in their pockets and made it big through hard work and thrift. Hell, he doesn't want to mention that his old man skipped China ahead of an anti-corruption sweep in Hong Kong and that he had gold coins sewn inside his coat when he left. Chong's Harvard education was paid with money earned from extortion and loan sharking." 

"Now, Britt, you never proved that." 

"Only because the Green Hornet couldn't find enough evidence for the D.A. then, meaning you, to go to court with." 

"That was a long time ago, Britt," Frank reminded him. 

"Yeah," Britt agreed, "If I hadn't had the bright idea to go after Jackson, I would've found the proof about Old Man Chong and not be where I am today," he said bitterly. "So I take it, that I have a snowball's chance in hell of getting out of here any time soon," he concluded. 

Frank nodded. "I'm afraid so. But don't worry. I'm building the best defense team possible and I'm looking into some detective agencies as well. I'll have you out of here soon, and I'll have you out as an innocent man," he said hopefully. "Maybe it's a good idea that you're behind bars anyway," he added as he rose to his feet." 

Britt frowned. "Why?" 

"I've heard that Anthony Hakenkrueze is still alive." 

"Impossible, the Green Hornet saw him get run over by a train." 

"Hakenkrueze didn't get run over by the train, at least not all of him. He's mostly in one piece, except for his left arm, that is. Word's on the street that he's after the Green Hornet for revenge. Maybe he'll lose interest or give up by the time you're out of jail." 

"There's a problem there, Frank." 

"What?" 

"Remember the reports about the Green Hornet being spotted at a big gangland battle?" 

"Yeah." 

"I was at Archer's charity ball that night." 

"Then who?" 

"Guess. I want you to make sure John and Lee keep the black car under wraps. No point in two Reids being in jail. Or worse," Britt added meaningfully.   
  



	7. chapter seven

**Chapter Seven**

**Council of War**

**I**

Frank pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly as he collapsed into the overstuffed arm chair in the living room of the Reid family home in Valley Grove. He had just finished explaining to John, Lee and Casey about his visit with Britt at the jail. He hadn't been able to reach Danielle and didn't know whether to be relieved not to have deal with her too or wishing he could have given her the bad news at the same time and gotten it all over at once. 

Everyone had taken the news according to their nature. Casey's eyes had grown wide with shock and disbelief as he had told them the entire ugly story including the De la Culebra woman's involvement. Now Casey held a wadded up piece of tissue in a white knuckled grip, as tears flowed quietly down her cheeks. He had tried to assure her that Britt would have never willingly violated their marriage vows, but that still didn't make things any better, especially without Britt being there to reassure her. 

Lee, sitting in the chair next to Casey, had remained grimly silent during Frank's discourse, his black eyes smoldering, a volcano waiting to explode into action. John, on the other hand, couldn't sit still. He paced back and forth like a caged tiger across the length of the room, fuming over Britt's explicit order forbidding John to take on the Green Hornet role. 

"C'mon, Uncle Frank, there's got to be something we can do!" John finally exploded. 

"You can help your mother keep things together at the Sentinel," Frank suggested quietly. 

"You know what I mean. The Green Hornet can tear this city apart looking for the people behind this frame-up. Hell, I bet if he got his hands on Archer, he'd make him sing loud and clear. You know as well as I, that bastard is behind this." 

"There's no proof . . . " Frank began. 

"The Hornet can get the proof." 

"Your father expressly said the Black Beauty stays in the garage," Scanlon reminded him firmly. 

Lee shook his head. "You can't expect us just to sit on our hands while Mr. Reid gets railroaded right into the electric chair." 

"Lee, Britt was very firm about this. No Green Hornet." 

"Even if it means the difference between life and death for Mr. Reid?" Lee retorted angrily. 

"It's not going to get to that. We'll get the proof we need to prove his innocence." 

"How?" John demanded. 

"I have a detective coming in from L.A. I've heard that she's one of the best in the business." 

"From L.A.? Why didn't you get somebody who might have an inkling of what's going in this city instead of some outsider?" 

"I'm getting her because she is an outsider. I'm planning to have her work undercover. Archer has his fingers in too many things in town. His people would spot a local in a minute. Besides I think Archer would be less suspicious of a woman." 

"He might be less suspicious of a woman," Casey added thoughtfully, "but Shannon De la Culebra wouldn't." 

"Maybe, but I think she's still our best bet." 

"I still think you're wrong about the Green Hornet," John snapped. 

"It's not my decision. It's your father's. I agree with him. It would be disastrous if you were captured as the Green Hornet." 

"Do you honestly think so little of us that we'd make some kind of stupid mistake and get ourselves caught?" John retorted back. 

"No, that's not it," Frank answered. "It's all a matter of luck. I've seen it time and again with your father. He was always running on the knife edge. All it takes is a little bit of the wrong kind of luck for the wrong people and the two of you could join him in jail or worse, in the morgue. He's not willing to take that chance and neither am I." 

"But . . . " 

"John," Casey interrupted. "Frank is right and so is your father. The Black Beauty stays put." 

"But Mrs. Reid . . . " Lee started coming to John's side. 

"The decision is made," she said firmly. "I will have enough to worry about with handling all the bad publicity this is going to create. It'll be a miracle if we can keep the Sentinel afloat. I don't want to have to worry that the next bad news I get is about my son and that of a family friend." 

"We're not children," John retorted. 

"Then try thinking like an adult, instead of acting like a spoiled child who isn't getting his own way," Casey shot back angrily. She gasped when she realized what she had said. With a heartbreaking sob she buried her face in her hands. "I'm so sorry, John, I didn't mean that. Oh, my god, what is happening to us?" 

John protectively pulled his mother close to him. She buried her face against his chest, her shoulders shaking with barely controlled grief. Never before had he realized how much larger than his mother he was. 

"You don't understand," she said. "Your father and I don't want what happened to him happen to you. You have no idea how it was after he was shot. For a whole week we didn't even know whether he would live or not. And when he finally did come out of that coma, there was the chance he would lose his leg. Then there were the months and months of physical therapy. Your father would get so frustrated that he couldn't even take a single step without help. And he was hurting so much all the time. The doctor wanted to give him a stronger pain killer, but he refused. He didn't want to become addicted. But he was hurting so much . . . John, how could we bear it if the same thing happened to you?" 

"You're right, Mom," John said lifting up his mother's chin, "I'm sorry. I was only thinking about my own feelings. I should've thought about what you're going through." He sighed, exchanging looks with Lee who nodded his reluctant agreement, "We'll do whatever you think best. If you and Dad say No Green Hornet, than that will be it. For now . . . I don't like it, but I can understand you have enough to worry about. We just want to be able to do something." 

"I know you do," Casey answered, gently pulling away from John, trying to force a brave smile for him. 

"We have a lot of people at the Sentinel who will want to help too. We have a lot of ears and eyes in this city. You and Lee can be a big help by coordinating things. We have to have someone whom everyone can report to. Somebody who can coordinate all the reports and make sense of them. I know that's not as exciting, but it will be a lot more helpful to me." 

"How are we going to break this to Danielle?" Lee asked. 

"Yeah, where is she?" John said. 

"John?" Danielle said as she came into the living room. Jacques trailed behind her, the uncertain look on his face mirroring hers. "Why is everyone here?" Her eyes widened as she saw Casey's red-rimmed eyes and the grim looks on John's, Lee's and Scanlon's faces. "What happened? Where's Dad?" 

Frank came to her. "I'm sorry, Dani . . . " 

"Dad? Uncle Frank, where is my father? Has something happened to him? Is he okay? Oh, my god, what's happened?" She demanded, her voice starting to rise in panic. 

"He's okay, Dani," Frank said in his most reassuring voice as he grasped her hands. "He's in jail . . . " he began. 

"In jail, why?" Her eyes spun to Jacques. She couldn't mention her fear about the possibility of her father being discovered as the Green Hornet in front of the young Frenchman. 

"He's been framed for murder," Frank continued. " It's a set up. The police found him in a hotel room where there was a lot of blood and it looked like there had been a fight. They're claiming that he murdered a girl who had gone up to the room with him." 

"Oh, no," Dani gasped, "Who was she?" 

"Somebody by the name of Christy Isaacs. Have you ever heard of anyone by that name?" 

Danielle shook her head. "No." 

"What about you, Mr. Le Blanc?" 

"Non." 

"How did she die?" Jacques asked. 

"We're not sure. There wasn't any body." 

"Then how can the police be sure that anyone was killed?" 

"They aren't sure, which is about the only thing in our favor," Frank admitted reluctantly. 

"But they are still holding him in jail?" Jacques asked. 

"For now, yes. We're working on getting him out as soon as possible." Frank replied. 

"Where were you with my sister?" John demanded. 

Jacques hesitated. "We were up North. Danielle was taking some pictures." 

"Taking pictures?" John asked. "Why? Of what?" 

"Do you have any idea who might be behind the frame up?" Dani broke in. 

"Nothing definite yet. Although we suspect that Shannon de la Culebra might have a hand in it," Frank answered. 

"Mrs. De la Culebra? Does that mean that Mr. Archer might be involved too?" Danielle asked worriedly. "Jacques, do you think . . . ?" 

"No, the timing is all wrong." 

"What do you mean timing?" John demanded. "What _have_ the two of you been doing? And don't tell me you were just taking pictures." 

"Well, you could say that we were taking pictures. Or more precisely we took a picture . . . " Jacques began. 

"What picture?" 

"We had to . . . " Danielle began. 

"What do you mean you had to?" 

"Jacques had to steal this picture back from Mr. Archer or Interpol will put him in prison." 

"So I was right about him being nothing about a two-bit thief." 

"No, you're wrong about that. Mr. Archer had stolen this picture and Interpol wanted Jacques to steal it back from him." 

"Why didn't they just arrest him and get it back that way?" 

"Because they weren't sure. Besides you know about people like Mr. Archer. There's no way any type of police could have gotten to him. They would have had to have proof. And that's almost impossible to do," Danielle explained. 

John rounded on Jacques, crowding him against the front door, "So you decided to involve my sister in this little escapade of yours?" 

"Monsieur . . . ," Jacques began. 

"That's not it at all, John," Danielle interrupted, pushing herself between her brother and Jacques, "It was my idea. I was the one who figured out where it was hidden. We had to do it. It's a never before seen masterpiece by El Greco. It's absolutely beautiful. We couldn't allow Mr. Archer to deny it from the rest of the world. Especially since he stole it on the way to a museum in the first place." 

"I don't give a damn if it is a masterpiece or not, there's no way you should have gotten involved with that French bastard in the first place," John replied heatedly. He snorted angrily, "Bastard is right . . . " 

He glared at Jacques, "When were you planning to tell her that you're our half-brother? Or do you get off on incest?" 

"Monsieur, I have never treated Danielle with anything but the deepest respect. I have never touched her," Jacques answered stiffly. 

"Half-brother? Jacques?" Danielle asked of the Frenchman. 

"Your father knew my mother when he was living in France. That was just before his father died. When he left, he did not know my mother was pregnant." 

"But didn't she ever tell him?" 

"Non. The Count, the man I call father, believed me to be his son. My mother felt it was not necessary to tell him otherwise, even if he might have guessed the truth. It was easier to believe the lie than to expose the truth. Besides, he wanted an heir. She gave him one, something none of his other wives or lovers were able to do. Little would have been accomplished if she told him that my true father was a young American who had gone back to the United States." 

"So was our father just a..., a... , sperm donor?" John asked. 

Jacques sighed and shrugged, "You do not understand. It is a matter of maintaining one's line. If there are no male heirs, a man has no one to pass his name on to. My father was a very proud man. He had tried many times with many women with no success. My mother knew that she would be cast aside as had the others if she did not give him an heir." 

"So she used our father to get what she wanted." 

"That surely is a harsh way to put it, but . . . " again Jacques shrugged and sighed. He shook his head, "You cannot understand. My mother said she was quite fond of your father. She enjoyed the time she had with him, but as Comtessa, it is a matter of duty, and family. She loved the Count so much she would do anything to give him what he desired the most. A son. Me. They had very long and happy marriage and my father died a happy man." 

"So why are you here? Really. And don't give me that bull about stealing some damn picture from Archer." 

"That is the truth. Interpol gave me the choice of either recovering the painting from Archer or going to prison. Thanks to Dani, I will be a free man once I return the painting to France." 

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" John retorted. "I bet you're in league with Archer. What are the two of you planning?" Grabbing the front of Jacques' shirt, he pushed him against the wall. "Are you planning on destroying my father and then demanding that as the eldest son you get control of the Sentinel? Is that it? And then what? Turn the Sentinel over to Archer like the bastard you are?" 

Jacques angrily grabbed John's hands and pushed him away. "I have no designs on your precious little paper. I have enough wealth coming from businesses all over Europe and around the world for that matter as a Le Blanc. Do you honestly think I would even consider risking all that for a mere newspaper? Especially one as small as your own? I may be, in your words, a bastard, but I am not a fool." 

"Then what's his hold on you?" John demanded, "What kind of plan are you two working on?" 

"Nothing," Jacques angrily retorted. 

John swung at Jacques. Jacques ducked, slamming an uppercut into John's jaw. John staggered briefly, recovered, threw another punch. Jacques blocked, returning John blow for blow. 

"Stop it!" Danielle screamed. "Lee, help me stop them! This is insane! Somebody stop them!" 

Danielle threw herself between Jacques and John while Lee stepped in to hold the still raging John. "This has got to stop! This is not the time for us to fight among ourselves," she pleaded. 

Jacques shakily drew himself erect, wiping at blood from a split lip. "Perhaps you should explain that to your hot-headed brother. Fou!" he spat. "If there is any one of this family I would expect to see in jail, it would be him. He does not have the sense of a gnat." He turned to leave. 

"Jacques," Danielle cried, "Don't go." 

She turned to her mother and Scanlon, "Mom. Frank. Don't you see? Maybe he can help us. He does have an in with Mr. Archer. Maybe he can find things out from him that we can't." 

"I don't know," Scanlon answered. "If Archer has any suspicions that the two of you were the ones who stole that picture, it would only put you in more danger." 

"But don't you think that if Jacques left right after the picture was stolen, that might make it more obvious that he was the one who did it? Wouldn't it be better if he stayed around, acting like nothing happened? Jacques?" she asked turning to her half-brother. 

"That would be more logical to remain in the city then to leave immediately," Jacques reluctantly agreed. 

"And, logically, you would still see Mr. Archer and act like nothing has happened, right?" 

"Oui . . . " 

"And if you happen just to hear something . . . " 

"Now, Dani . . . " 

"Jacques, even though the Count was not your birth-father, you thought of him as your father, didn't you?" 

"Of course, he treated me like a son of his own flesh." 

"And you loved him a lot, didn't you?" 

Jacques nodded. "Oui," he said very quietly. 

"Then you must understand how I feel. And how John feels. If something happened to our father while he is in jail or if he gets convicted . . . " her voice caught for a moment. "Please Jacques, stay and help me . . . , us," she begged. 

Jacques glared at John. "I do not know . . . " he hesitated. 

"Jacques," Casey said, "Dani is right. We need all the help we can. Will you help us?" 

"Mom . . . " John began. 

"John, we need his help. We need someone on the inside with Archer. Jacques can be that someone," she answered. 

"I don't trust him." 

"I know. Dani? Do you trust Jacques?" 

Danielle studied Jacques for a few moments. He drew himself up very straight, very proudly. In many ways he looked so much like her father. Slighter in build maybe, but he had the same pale blue-green eyes and dark hair. He was like a younger edition of Britt Reid. She looked deeply into his eyes. He did not ask for her approval, but stood on his own terms, demanding to be judged according to them. Was he the kind of man her father would have become if he had never had to run the Sentinel? If he had never become the Green Hornet? 

"Jacques, will you help us?" she asked. 

"For you, for Madame Reid, for Monsieur Britt Reid, oui." 

"Then I trust you. John?" 

John shook his head, "Whatever you say, Sis. I think this is going to be a big mistake, but like you said, we need all the help we can get." He lifted his hand to Jacques, "Peace," he said, "Just don't hurt my sister, huh? After all she's your sister too. Remember that." 

Jacques bowed formally. "I will not betray the trust of my sister." 

II__

_Britt_, Casey thought as she watched as the staff of the Daily Sentinel file into the studio. It was the only place in the Sentinel big enough to fit the paper's large staff. Everybody from the youngest paper hawker to the loading dock crew to the heads of the editorial departments had been invited. She knew it was important that she tell everybody about what was going on. People were worried about the Sentinel's future and afraid for their jobs. Rumors were running like a wildfire through the paper, especially since reporters were notorious as professional gossips. She had to speak to them before things got completely out of hand. 

_I can't do this, Britt. I can't. Oh god, Britt . . . _

The garish, sequin-covered set behind her added a bizarre twist. Every day, High or Low, a popular game show produced by DSTV was filmed before a live studio audience. Huge lines filled with people hoping to be lucky enough to get one of the free tickets for the show would form outside the paper hours before the broadcast. In the show contestants pulled from the audience would guess the prices of different products. The stakes were sometimes high with a single guess meaning all the difference between leaving with a valuable prize or nothing at all. 

High stakes. This time they couldn't be any higher. Casey looked down at the carefully prepared statement in her hands. Frank and the kids had helped her frame a very careful announcement of the Reid family's stance about Britt's arrest. She would make the statement and then leave without a question and answer session. It was planned for everything be as clear cut as possible. The words on the paper sounded so very detached and so very logical. Casey's hands shook. She could barely read the words on the paper as they blurred in front of her. _This is Britt I'm talking about_, she thought, _this is the man I love_. _I can't do this, Britt. I can't_. 

"Mom," John said, noticing his mother's distress, "Dani or I can do this instead. You don't have to." 

Casey shook her head. "No, I have to. These are our people. I have to talk to them." She gazed over the expectant audience. They were unusually quiet. Fear and worry filled the large room, rolling over her in waves. _I can't do this. I can't._

Casey's eyes wandered around the room. The seats rose in tiers amphitheater-style with the stage slightly higher than the lowest row of seats. Her glance fell on the front row where Mike Axford, Dunigan, Ed Lowrey, and Lee sat. His fair complexion flushed with barely restrained anger, Mike was shaking his head as he talked to the managing editor. Lee was talking to Lowrey in quiet tones, their eyes straying every once in a while to where the Reid family sat on the stage. 

She continued to watch the audience, trying to feel her way. Her eyes locked on a thin man seated in the last row at the top. Occasionally his glasses would flash with reflected light as he tilted his head, perhaps aware that she was watching him. He was flanked by large men on either side. No one sat next to the large men even though that meant leaning against the walls and sitting on the stairs. _We could be arrested for violating fire safety laws_, ran incongruously through Casey's mind. 

Casey felt a gentle touch on her hand, the one holding the statement. "Mom?" Danielle said, "Are you okay?" 

"Fine," Casey said, her voice cracking in her own ears. "There's a man up there in the NeXT to last rows. There's two big man right next to him. I can hardly see him past these bright stage lights. Can you see him?" 

Danielle studied the upper rows. She gasped. "That's Mr. Archer. He's not supposed to be here. This is for Sentinel staff only. I'll have security throw him out," she said, starting to rise from her chair. 

Casey grasped her hand, stopping her, "No, don't. I don't want to make a scene. Besides . . . " A small smile appeared on her face. "I'm glad he's here." 

Casey rose from her chair, leaving the statement on her seat. _This is for you, Britt,_ she thought as she stepped behind the podium. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," Casey began, "I am very glad to see you all here." She looked up at Archer pointedly, proudly lifting her chin. "I know you are all worried about what is going to happen. I also know that there are rumors that the Sentinel is going to be sold to pay for my husband's defense. I am here to tell you that the Sentinel will never be sold. I repeat, never. The Sentinel has always been in the Reid family, and it will always be. We are proud to be one of the few remaining papers run by a single family instead of an impersonal corporation. 

"Here at the Sentinel everyone matters because we are a family, not just us Reids but everyone who works for the Sentinel. No matter what your job, no matter if you have just joined us or have been here since the Sentinel's founding, you are an important part of the Sentinel family, not just some interchangeable cog that can be disposed of whenever it is convenient or cost-effective. 

"It is only through all of us working together that we can fulfill the Sentinel's true purpose. We are not here to make a profit for some giant, faceless corporation. We are here to serve our community by making it a better and safer place for everyone to live and work. 

"Regardless of what the advertisers say or what the accountants say, we will always do what's right and what's best for our home and for our people, our family. We have never fired a single individual because some politician or special interest group found that person's story embarrassing or revealed a truth that they didn't want revealed. As long as there was proof and cold, hard documentation we have always defended our people with all the resources the Sentinel has, no matter the cost." 

Casey noticed several people nod their heads in agreement. They were no doubt remembering how the Sentinel had gone head to head with the boss of a powerful political lobby over a reporter's story revealing his connections with several gang leaders. It had been expensive, but in the end the Sentinel had won and the political boss had gone to prison in disgrace. 

"Someone, some group, has decided that my husband, Mr. Reid, needs to be destroyed. They could have decided to kill him, but instead they have chosen to try to destroy him by destroying his reputation. This is the more insidious way to go, because when you kill someone, you create a martyr and firm the resolve of those left behind. But, you see, they not only want my husband destroyed, they also want the Daily Sentinel either destroyed, or in their hands." Casey glared up at Archer. "We know though, what they are intending. We will not lie down and allow them to destroy something that we, including every single person who works for the Sentinel, have worked so hard to build. 

"The Sentinel has vast resources. Not in terms in money, or power, but in our people, in you. The Sentinel's reporters are the best in the world. Our people have time after time gone after the big story and have gotten it. This time will be no different. It took a lot of planning and money to create the lie that my husband cheated with a girl and then murdered her. It's a very complex and very well executed plot, but like anything that involves more than one person, there is someone who will talk, someone who can be convinced to tell the truth. I am giving this assignment to everyone at the Sentinel. Find that person, find that string that when pulled will unravel the entire plot. 

"We will not allow ourselves to become part of the vast homogenization of America. We will not become another meaningless, powerless cog in some vast, impersonal corporation. We will fight it with every tool, every resource at hand. 

"I want every one of you to keep your eyes and ears open. No matter what you do, or who you are, if you hear something, a rumor, a whisper, no matter what it is, my office will be open to you. We cannot afford to ignore anything, no matter how improbable or unlikely it is. Anything could be the break we need." 

Casey stepped forward, "Ladies and gentlemen, my husband, my family, the entire Sentinel is relying on you. I know you will not fail." 

For a moment there was silence, each person looking at their neighbor. Casey noticed Archer motioning to his men, then rising to leave. Suddenly there was a single pair of hands clapping, then another, and another. People rose to their feet, clapping their hands in unison, a wave of sound washing over the studio until it crescendoed into whistles and cheers of approval as Casey, Frank and her family left the stage. 

Casey found Archer relaxing in Britt's chair in the publisher's office. "I'll get rid of him," John growled, stepping toward the billionaire. Archer's men stepped forward, blocking him. John fist exploded into the belly of the man closest to him, then smashed a left into the jaw of the other man as he started to pull a gun. 

"Enough!" Archer ordered. He shot a disgusted look at his gorillas, "Get out of here. Wait for me downstairs." 

Still in Britt's seat, Archer cast a cloying smile at Casey, "Now Mrs. Reid, all that violence was totally unnecessary." 

"Mr. Archer, if you do not get out of my husband's seat immediately, I will not be responsible for what happens to you," Casey said as calmly as she could. 

Archer's smile broadened, "Come, Mrs. Reid, I know you wouldn't dare lay a hand on me. After all I don't think you can afford a charge of assault and battery on top of your current legal troubles." 

John shrugged, "Don't worry about it, Mom, I bet I can find a lot of people willing to swear that Mr. Archer here fell down some stairs." 

"Mr. Archer, I believe that's my husband's chair," Casey said very firmly. 

Archer rose out of the chair, "You are being most unreasonable, Mrs. Reid. It is very foolish for you to insult a possible ally. You don't have a lot of friends left, you know." 

"The friends I have left are the only ones worth keeping. Those others were never real friends to begin with," Casey said. "Now just what are you doing here?" she demanded. 

"I liked your little speech," Archer replied as he faced Casey. He started to rest a hip on Britt's desk, then seeing the glare from John decided against it. "However it was all for nothing. Your dear husband is not a saint. He's all too human, just like the rest of us. You know as well as I do that he cheated on you and then murdered that girl in a jealous fit. You have only one hope . . . " 

"And what hope is that?" Casey demanded sharply. 

"Sell the Sentinel to me. We don't even have to make it official for a while, let's say not until you and Britt retire to some cozy island or something. You need the money, and I'm sure the stresses of trying a run a failing business is not what you need right now." 

"And if I sell the Sentinel to you, what will happen to my husband? Will he then be freed?" 

"Well, I'm sure that something can be arranged to show that Britt did not harm that girl. Who knows what can be done when there's adequate motivation?" 

Angrily clenching his fists, John rounded on Archer, "How much motivation is there if I bust your face in?" he threatened. 

"John," Casey warned. "Mr. Archer is right, there is no need for violence. However, Mr. Archer, if you have had a hand in this plot, I promise you that you will wish you had never been born." 

"You are being most unreasonable." 

"I am being very reasonable. You will never get the Sentinel. Even if I have to fire every single person and sell off every piece of equipment and stick of furniture, you will never have the Sentinel. The only thing you will ever wind up with is an empty shell, and I might even make sure you don't get that." 

Archer brushed past John who refused to step out of the way. "I can see that I can't get any where with you. That's too bad." 

He stood by the door leading to the hallway. He shot a meaningful look at the picture of Britt's father on the wall, "There's no way you can win." 

"There is always a way to win," John growled as Archer closed the door behind him. 

After Archer had left, John turned to his mother, "Mom, I know what Dad said, but if Lee and I could . . . " 

Casey shook her head, "No, not yet. Wait, maybe it won't be necessary." 

"But Mom . . . " 

"Please, John, we agreed . . . " 

John nodded. "Okay, I'll go with it, for now." 

III 

Husky Buske glanced over at Trini Mbeka and Oscar Romanov as they watched Hakenkrueze angrily pace back and forth in the small office. The worn-out linoleum floor rang with every step of his highly polished boots. The head of the Knights and the Russians had chosen to stand, preferring to lean against the grimy walls instead of sitting in the two chairs that had cushions that barely restrained the springs that threatened to pierce the thin fabric covering them. 

Hakenkrueze's man also stood, but at attention, like the soldier he was. Only the Trinidad gangster sat in one of those chairs. The sleepily casual pose of his long, thin body hid the fact that he was watching Hakenkrueze like a panther waiting to spring. Husky wondered if Mbeka and Romanov thought like he did that the neo-Nazi was finally losing it. 

"This is intolerable!" Hakenkrueze raged, "Once I had it all. The best weapons, the best men, an endless supply of money. I am a leader of men, and look at this place," he continued, "I am reduced to hiding in this squalid rathole. All because of the Green Hornet." 

He rounded on the blonde Russian who was whipcord thin but several inches taller than him, "I've given you everything you asked for. Now you hold the eastside in your hands, but what have you given me for that?" he demanded. 

Romanov sneered. "I give you one-quarter of all money we make," he growled. "If your plans have not brought Green Hornet out of hiding, that is no concern of mine. The longer he does not appear, the longer I have to consolidate my hold over the Russian gangs," he said in a thick accent. 

Suddenly Hakenkrueze lashed out at the Russian, slamming him to the filthy floor. "I want results. I want the Green Hornet," he screamed bending over the man. 

Romanov's hand moved to the gun he had hidden inside his jacket, only to find his hand caught in the steel grip of Hakenkrueze's metallic hand. Husky could hear the cracking of the delicate bones in the Russian's hand even from where he stood. 

"God curse you for this, you Cossack," Romanov screamed, cradling his hand against his chest, "I kill you for this!" 

"No, I kill you," Hakenkrueze answered, grabbing the Russian's throat. Romanov tried to peel away the inhuman hand as his eyes started to bulge. He could not even gasp as the bones of his throat and larynx were crushed. 

Hakenkrueze kept his grip on the Russian's throat for several minutes after his body had gone limp. 

"Sir," Karl said, very quietly. 

Slowly Hakenkrueze remembered himself. He dropped Romanov's body to the ground, then wiped his metal hand against the remaining one of flesh. He glared at Husky and Mbeka. "I must have the Green Hornet, do you understand? Even if you have to bathe this entire city in blood, I want him. I want him alive. Do you understand?" 

Husky shrugged as he pulled away from the wall, "Yeah, whatever you want." 

Hakenkrueze stepped between him and the door. Husky looked him up and down. "If it's possible to get the Hornet, I'll get him for you," he said in a dangerously quiet voice. 

Hakenkrueze refused to move. 

"If you keep on killin' yer partners, Hakenkrueze, yer gonna to have to find yerself some more. And that'll mean that yer gonna be out a lot more dough with nuthin' to show for it," Husky said with a meaningful glance at the body at their feet. 

Mbeka uncoiled himself from his chair, and stood behind Husky, "He is right. It is not wise to kill your partners, for then you will only have enemies," he said, his soft, elegant English accent dripping with menace. 

Husky looked the Neo-Nazi up and down. "I suggest you think about that Hakenkrueze." He shoved his way past Hakenkrueze. "I'm outta here." 

Mbeka shot an angry glare at Hakenkrueze and his man, "I too am out of here." 

Hakenkrueze turned to his man after Husky and Mbeka had left. "I can't understand it. I have done everything I can to get the Green Hornet's attention. And nothing. No one has seen him or his blasted car. It's like he has disappeared into the very air." 

"Perhaps, sir," Karl ventured, "the Green Hornet has heard that you are alive and in this city. Perhaps he is in hiding because he is afraid of you." 

"No, that's impossible. The Green Hornet is not a coward. If he knew I was here, he would have come to me to do battle. No, there must be something else. Something that is stopping him from acting." 

"So you're not so thickheaded after all," came a sultry voice from the doorway. 

Hakenkrueze spun around while Karl drew his gun from its shoulder holster. "Who are you?" he demanded of the woman standing there. 

Shannon De la Culebra leaned against the doorway with practiced sexuality. The softly flowing rust-red pant suit that draped her well-endowed figure was nearly the color of the red hair that curled about her forehead and spilled down from a copper circlet to caress the creamy flesh of her throat. 

"Aren't you going to invite a lady in?" she asked with red pouting lips. 

Speechless, Karl could only gape open-mouth at the woman. Hakenkrueze growled. "If there's a lady, I'll invite her in. What do you want, woman?" 

Shannon swayed seductively into the room, then pressed the door closed behind her. "My, my, such manners we have. It looks like your mother forgot to teach you some manners, dear Anthony. Or do you Nazis figure that being polite is not suitable for the master race?" she asked archly. 

"I'm busy, if you're here to turn a few tricks, forget it. If I need a female, I'll choose something that's better quality than you." 

Shannon tsked, "Yes, indeed," she said stepping over Romanov's body, "I can see that you're busy. Too bad it involves killing people whenever you're in a snit." 

"What business of this is yours?" 

"I know all about the Green Hornet," she hinted as she circled the neo-Nazi. 

He grabbed her arm, pulling her to him, "What do you know about the Green Hornet?" 

She slyly regarded him through slitted green eyes, "I know that he is currently, shall we say, indisposed?" 

Hakenkrueze tightened his grip. Shannon's smile widened. "The Green Hornet is out of your reach. It doesn't matter what you do. You can't get to him." 

"Are you his friend?" 

"No, silly. Quite the opposite." 

"Is he dead, then?" 

"No, but you're getting warmer. Who knows, if everything keeps on going the way it is, maybe he will be dead or at least in the position where he will wish he was." 

"What are you hinting at?" 

Shannon slowly ran her fingers along Hakenkrueze's metallic arm, "You must remember that there's the Green Hornet and then there's the Green Hornet." 

Hakenkrueze disgustedly released his hold. "Get to the point. I tire of your senseless riddles." 

"Tell, my brave, little, tin soldier. Who is the Green Hornet?" she asked slyly. 

"I don't know. Do you?" 

She nodded secretively. "Tell me, is the Green Hornet the man who wears the mask or is he the mask?" 

Hakenkrueze rolled his eyes, "What the hell does that mean?" 

"Anyone can wear a mask that looks like the Green Hornet's. So if a man wears that mask does that mean that he is the Green Hornet?" 

"Of course not. There is only one Green Hornet." 

"Are you sure?" 

Hakenkrueze started to retort, of course, then he remembered. "I remember seeing who I thought was the Green Hornet, but . . . Yes, now I think of it, I think his hair was blonde, not grey. Even from where I was I am positive. He was with the chauffeur and the car, so he had to be the Green Hornet." 

"But is he the Green Hornet, or . . . " Shannon tilted her head, feigning thoughtfulness. "Or, could there be two Green Hornets?" 

"Impossible . . . " 

"Is it? The Green Hornet is not a young man. What do you think he was doing all those years he was gone? Do you think he was in suspended animation?" 

"No, of course not." 

"So, perhaps even though the Green Hornet was not prowling the city, the man who is the Green Hornet was still very much around, living among us all, living a normal life just like everyone else." 

A wolfish grin appeared on Hakenkrueze's face, "And so there could be two Green Hornets, the old man, the original one, and the younger one. The new Green Hornet, maybe?" 

"Well, surprise, surprise," Shannon said facetiously, "the man can be taught." 

Intrigued by his conclusion, Hakenkrueze let the insult slide. "So what does that mean for you and me?" he asked Shannon. 

"Have you ever heard of Julius Archer?" 

"Of course, everyone has. He's that billionaire who owns practically half the world." 

"I wouldn't go quite that far," Shannon said, "but he is very rich, but more importantly, he is tied in with the very same people who gave you that lovely arm and is funding this project of yours. We have a plan and so far it is working beautifully. We have taken care of a very painful thorn in our side which wound up serendiptiously taking out the Green Hornet as well. The problem though, is that the Green Hornet is more than just the man who wears that mask. He is an idea. We must eliminate that idea." 

"How do you intend to destroy that idea?" 

"With your help we will make it appear that the Green Hornet is the most bloodthirsty monster the country has ever seen. We will commit the world's most heinous act and then when the time is right, we will show his true face to the world, destroying the Green Hornet, especially the idea behind him, forever." 

"Sounds good," Hakenkrueze admitted, "but I still want to break the Green Hornet. I want him to know the pain I feel every day because of this metal monstrosity at the end of my arm," he said, making a fist of his mechanical hand. 

"Actually I think it adds a certain something to your image, but . . . whatever," Shannon said with a small shrug. She moved closer to Hakenkrueze, pressing her body close to his, "Who knows, we might even manage to make you appear the savior." She kissed him, her tongue searching for his. 


	8. chapter eight

**Chapter Eight**

**Stormy Weather**

I 

John angrily threw the sheaf of newspapers on the coffee table where Lee was resting his feet, then dropped heavily down beside him on the couch. 

"Bad day?" Lee asked as he laid the script he was studying down beside the newspapers. 

"I guess you haven't read today's batch of papers yet," Johan gritted through clenched teeth. 

"I try not to. Outside of the Sentinel, it's just a bunch of B.S. anyway." 

"Damn right, and it's getting worse. Crawford's been having a field day ever since Dad's been thrown into jail. Now he's bringing up all that Green Hornet stuff again too. Damn, I'd sure as hell love to send a rocket up his . . . " 

"I'd love to do that to, but Mrs. Reid made it very clear that you know what stays you know where." 

"Doesn't mean we couldn't walk . . . " 

Lee rolled his eyes, "Yeah, I can see that right now. Think you can outrun a police car, or do you plan on swinging from a nylon rope? Doing it in an overcoat might be kind of hard, or do you plan on going the super hero long johns route?" 

John shook his head with a sigh, "You're right, it's just that I feel so damn helpless when the means to do something about it is sitting only a few yards away. It would be so easy . . . " 

"It would," Lee agreed. He picked one of the papers and took a look at the front page. "At least the Daily Express seems to be backing off. They now have the story under the fold instead of a screaming headline." 

"That's because of the gang war. It's getting worse every day," John answered. 

"Yeah, I saw in this morning's news that a school was caught in the crossfire between two different Russian gangs." 

John stood up and began pacing, "If it hadn't been closed for the night, it would've been a massacre. As it was there was supposed to be an AA meeting there that night, but it had been canceled." 

He turned to face Lee, "Dammit, it's getting so no one can even leave their own home." 

"Not even safe to do that," Lee commented, "I heard that an elderly couple down on South Street got killed in their own living room by a drive-by shooter. The cops said their house looked just like one owned by a drug dealer two streets over." 

"I have got to do something before I go nuts here," John said as he began pacing again. 

"What do you suggest?" 

"I don't know. Frank said that I'm supposed to coordinate any of the leads that come in and to leave the bulk of the investigation to this lady detective he hired. But, hell, there's so much crap coming in right now, I don't know what to do with it, especially since nothing has panned out yet" 

"What about that girl's boyfriend, the artist?" 

John shook his head, "Frank wants this lady detective to follow the lead instead of us. Dammit, I know that if there was enough pressure put on him, he'd sing like a canary." 

"So what about this lady detective?" 

"Frank says she's very good. She's supposed to be some big time P.I. from L.A. by the name of Stormy Weathers, but I don't know . . ." 

"Stormy Weathers? Sounds more like a stripper than a detective." 

"Sounds like it to me too, but Frank says she's supposed to be one of the best." 

John frowned thoughtfully. "You know, I think I'm going to have to check on this Stormy Weathers and find out what she's working on." 

"I thought Mr. Scanlon wanted us to keep their distance. Isn't she supposed to be working undercover or something?" 

"So Frank says, but I still want to talk to her." He shrugged. "Maybe I can give her a hand." 

Lee nodded, "Sounds good to me. Want me to come along?" 

"Nah, I can it myself, besides . . . " John picked up Lee's script and glanced at it before tossing it back to him, "I think you gotta study your lines there, Star." He added with a sideways grin. 

II 

Stormy Weathers stopped just inside the door for a few moments waiting for her eyes to adjust. Outside was a brilliant spring day. Inside it was totally dark except for the bluish light cast by the twenty or so computer monitors that sat on the long tables that filled the room. Once her eyes had adjusted, she could see that the room was nearly empty except for a bored looking college age kid who sat behind a tall counter on which was an old cash register. As she gazed around the room, she saw at the first long table a small knot of young men clustered around an older man who was intently staring at the monitor in front of him. He was almost totally still except for the manic movement of his hands across the keyboard in front of him. The air around them reverberated with explosions and gunfire worthy of World War Three. 

"Hi," Stormy said as she approached the group, "Can I use one of these machines to check my email?" 

One of the young men, a tall skinny kid who looked like he never had enough to eat, broke his concentration on the player's screen with reluctance. His eyes widened as a broad grin spread across his face. Stormy knew exactly how he would react. 

She had taken a lot of care when she had dressed, choosing black jeans that were just tight enough to show the curve of her hips, without appearing too threateningly sexual. So too had she chosen the cowl necked sweater of royal blue. It was bulky and she had pushed its sleeves up past her elbows. Attractive but casual, it brought out the deep blue of her eyes. She had also used a very light hand with her makeup, choosing a dewy finish, a subtle blush and just a bit of brown mascara at the tips of her long dark blonde eyelashes to emphasize their length. Her girl-next-door image was completed with a big black velvet bow holding her honey-blonde hair in a low pony tail near the nape of her neck. 

The boy elbowed the one next to him. The boy, shorter and chubbier with dark hair with blonde tips, grinned even wider than the first boy. "Hi," he said. "Can I help you?" he asked with a hint of a teenage lecher in his voice. 

_Yeah, I bet you can_, Stormy thought. She smiled as sweetly as she could. "I'm from out of town and I need to check my email. I'm supposed to be getting something important soon. I heard there was a place around here where I could check it." She frowned attractively. "Am I in the wrong place?" 

"You must've been looking for the Cyber Cafe down the street," the third boy replied. Between the other two boys in weight and height he was dressed entirely in black except for the dozens of silver zippers that covered his overlarge pants. 

"That's okay," said the second boy, "She can use one of these machines." 

He shouted over to the kid at the counter, "Hey! She can use one of these machines to check her email, can't she?" 

The college kid looked up, then shrugged before returning to the magazine in his hands. 

"'Sides," supplied the tallest boy, his voice dripping with contempt, "They're a bunch of posers." His voice changed to a simpering, whiny tone, "Oh, gracious, somebody didn't put enough soy milk in my mocha creme double latte." 

The other boys rolled their eyes and snickered. 

The middle boy pulled a chair out from the empty computer he was standing next to, "Here, why don't you use this one. My name's David. What's yours?" 

"Ashley Warren," Stormy replied. She tilted her head, checking out the boys as they made a path for her. "Aren't you guys a little young to be here at this time of the day? What are you guys? High School seniors?" she asked. 

"Nah," David replied. "I'm a junior. So's Allen," he replied, pointing to the tall kid who nodded a greeting to Stormy. 

"And I'm Jeremy," said the shortest boy. "I'm a freshman." 

"Yeah, next year, you mean," countered Allen. 

"That's this August, you know," Jeremy retorted. 

"Anyway," said David, "There's no school today. It's in-service for all the teachers in our district." 

Stormy noticed that the man had not reacted during their entire conversation. His hands were still flying over the keyboard as his eyes remained glued to the screen in front of him. He was slightly over weight, having the same soft formless shape as Jeremy and David, but there was a noticeable bald spot surrounded by long dish-water brown hair that brushed the top of the collar of his blue flannel shirt. Stormy estimated him to be in his late 30's. 

She gestured toward him, keeping her voice low. "Uh, I'm not disturbing anything, am I?" she asked. 

"Nah, Sam's the man. When he's playing Balance of Terror, nobody can break his concentration," answered David. 

"Yeah," added Jeremy, "A nuke could go off right next to him and he wouldn't notice a thing." 

"Balance of Terror? I've heard of that game," Stormy said as she came to look over the man's shoulder. "It's some kind of internet game isn't it?" 

"Yeah," Allen said, "It's the best game on the net there is. And we're the best clan in the country." 

"We're the best because of Sam. Nobody can beat him," said David, admiration plain in his voice. "We've been in a clan battle all day long. Sam's the only one left except for this guy in Japan." 

There was suddenly an extended blasting of gunfire. On the screen two characters in military fatigues were shooting at each other wildly with massive guns. Impossibly both characters remained standing for a few minutes, then there was dead silence. Only one character was standing. The three boys began whooping as the man sat for a few moments as though not believing the game had ended. 

"Yes!" he shouted slamming his fist on the desk. 

"Who won?" Stormy asked. 

"We did!" the boys answered all together. "We're the best! We're number one!" they shouted throwing each other high fives. 

"Sam, man, you're the best damn player in the whole damn world!" Allen crowed as he slapped the older man on the back. 

Sam finally looked up as lines of statistics scrolled across a screen covered in pixilated blood. He smiled shyly up at Stormy. "Hi," he said, "I'm sorry I didn't even notice you when you came in. Have you been here long?" 

"No, only just a few minutes. The guys here have been very helpful. I guess I must be in the wrong place. I was just looking a place to check my email." 

Sam nodded. "This is probably the wrong place to check your email. It gets kind of noisy here sometimes," he explained. 

"That's all right," Stormy replied as she sat down at the computer next to Sam. "I'm going to be here for only a few minutes." 

Sam watched Stormy a few moments, watching her as she opened up her email, then turned to the teenagers, "You guys want to go out to celebrate?" he asked. 

"Sure," said Allen with a shrug, "My folks want me to be home by five. I got another hour or two I can kill." 

David and Jeremy looked at each other then shrugged. "It's okay with us too," David said, "Jeremy's mom said that she'd pick us up whenever we call her." 

"We can't go too far though," added Jeremy. 

"No problem," Sam replied, "We'll go next door for some soda and hamburgers." 

"Yeah," Jeremy answered, "They got some great old video games there too." 

Sam rose from his seat shaking his head. "Kids," he muttered wryly 

Stormy watched Sam and the teens start to leave. Then Sam turned toward her. "Would you like to come with us? My treat. Uh, that is if you don't have anything better to do." 

Stormy smiled back at him. "Sounds good to me. I think I'm getting a little hungry anyway." 

"You'd think they'd get tired of playing them all day long," Sam observed as he watched the teens play the ancient console game that was imbedded in the table in front of them. "The graphics are way out of date, but they still can't get enough of them." 

"I've heard that video games are a major industry," Stormy said. 

Sam shrugged, "Yeah, there's a lot of money, but the competition is murder. Those kids eat up the stuff like it was candy. You can never get it out fast enough. And even then you got to always be adapting to the latest and greatest game system." 

"Sounds like you know quite a lot about the industry." 

"A little. I wrote some of the earliest games, you know stuff for Atari, TRS-80's, anything that had a screen and color." 

"That must be a fascinating field." 

"It is, but . . . " 

"But what?" 

"Sometimes, I wonder. Once parents were talking about not buying toy guns and having boys play with dolls instead. The idea was that maybe kids wouldn't learn to be so violent. Now look at them. They're playing games so realistic that some of the stuff is derived from real military simulations. Sometimes I wonder if we aren't really training these kids for war." 

"That's a scary thought." 

"It is. I've talked to Julius about it. I was thinking it might be time for us tone things down a bit." 

"Julius?" 

"Yeah, I work with Julius Archer. You know, the head of Logicsoft." Sam said offhandedly. "Actually I'm kind of a partner, but I don't like the limelight." 

"How did you meet him?" 

"I met him the day he bought my company. We were just a little two-bit outfit, but our games were beating out everything Logicsoft could even think of." 

"So he bought you out?" 

"Yeah, he paid me a lot of dough, and I can still do what I want to, which is design games, but still . . . " 

"But still what?" 

"I get tired. It's getting to be the same old thing. Sometimes the games we're designing scare me." 

"Any of them in particular?" 

"Yeah, there's one that I thought was actually going to be a military war games simulation. It involves terrorists attacking the Global Commerce Center. When I mentioned it in passing to Julius, he said that it was just a game. Still, I don't like the looks of it. It's too technical, like something you would make to brief a combat team, but not to waste a bunch of kids' afternoons. To be frank, I don't these guys here would like it." he added, nodding to the teens who were arguing over who was next to play the game. 

"Is that why you play games with these kids?" 

"Some. It's the best way I can judge if they like a game or not. Focus groups don't really cut it, at least with kids. But when a game is hot, you almost don't need any ads, just word of mouth will sell it." 

"Sounds like it's quite a business. Have you ever thought of getting out or starting your own company?" 

"No, I'm a financial coward. I like having regular paycheck coming in. As for forming my own company. Forget it. Julius and his lawyers have a way of eating up or destroying anybody who gets in their way. There's no way I could ever compete with him." 

"But surely you have enough money to live comfortably. You don't strike me as somebody who's really into that whole upscale lifestyle." 

"Maybe not," Sam replied thoughtfully, "I guess what I really like is designing the games and watching people enjoy them." 

"Do you have kids?" 

"No. I married once, but we split after a few years. The wife didn't think a grown man should be playing video games. And after that, well . . . I don't get out much, and the women I do meet are through the company. They're not my type, or should you say, I'm not their type. I'm not rich enough. They're more interested in money than in a real relationship." 

"Don't you get lonely sometimes?" 

"Sometimes, but it's weird, but when I play on line, I forget the loneliness." A twisted smile appeared briefly on Sam's face. "Sometimes I wonder if there's something addictive about them. You know like cigarettes. Hell, there could be some kind of mind control coding in the games that makes everybody want to play them." 

Stormy gave brief shudder. "That scares me. Do you think that's really a possibility?" 

Sam shook his head. "Nah, no way. It's just my imagination." He gave her a reassuring smile. "That's what makes me a great designer." 

"Hey, Sam," David said walking up to the couple, "We gotta go now. Jeremy's mom is gonna pick up me and Jeremy up and she's gonna take Allen with us too. We had a great time. See ya online tomorrow night?" 

"'Fraid not," Sam answered, "Got a party to go to then." 

"Fun party or one of those business ones?" Jeremy asked. 

"Business. You know, one of those ones where everybody stands around trying to suck up to people more important than they are and ignore those who are less important than they are." 

Stormy watched the teens leave, then turned to Sam. "Sounds like you're looking forward to that party." 

"Yeah, like I'm looking forward to having a sore toe. It'd be more fun being hit in the head. By the way, do you have anything planned for tomorrow?" 

"Not a thing." 

"Would you like to come?" 

Stormy tilted her head with a wry smile on her face. "You mean to something that's as much fun as hurting your toe?" 

Sam returned her smile. "It'll be a lot more fun if you went with me. I kind of like talking to you." 

"I'll have to think about it," Stormy said thoughtfully. 

"If you need something to wear . . . " 

"That's not the problem. It's just that . . . I don't know . . . I'm new in town and I wasn't really expecting on going to a society party." 

Sam seemed to visibly deflate before Stormy's eyes. He shrugged unhappily. "Yeah, I guess you're right. After all we just met . . . " 

Placing her hand gently on Sam's arm, Stormy smiled gently at him. "You're really a nice guy. You know that?" 

Then she paused for a few more moments in thought. "Okay, I'll go," she said. "Here's the phone number where I'm staying," she said after writing a number on a piece of paper. "Call me with the time." 

Sam's grin widened. "I think this is a party I'm actually going to enjoy." 

III 

"Have you seen anyone come in like this?" John asked the cashier, showing her a picture of a beautiful blonde who gazed seductively at the camera. 

"No. Have you looked around in the dining room?" 

"Yes, I did, but I didn't see anybody who looked like her." 

"Maybe she's running a little late," the cashier suggested helpfully. 

"Could be, but she said she'd be here by 10. It's almost 10:30 now." 

"Maybe she meant another Denny's. We have ten locations in town, you know." 

"I do know, but I double checked with her. She specifically gave me this address." 

The cashier shrugged. "Sorry, I can't help you." 

John sighed as he pocketed the picture. "I'll take one more look around." 

He studied the people in the restaurant. There were only a few people there taking advantage of the Saturday morning breakfast buffet. Several of them were elderly couples dressed for a day on the town. These was also a family with three young children. Obviously tourists, the parents were trying to study the maps and brochures in front of them as their children wiggled and teased each other. 

The only person who even remotely resembled the picture was a brunette reading a romance novel as she worked on finishing off a plate of scrambled eggs. He pulled out the picture and studied it. 

She was about the same age, and her face did bear some resemblance to the one in the picture, but that was about as far as it went. She was dressed in a well-worn jogging outfit that bagged around her body so that it was impossible to tell anything about her figure. Also when she happened to glance up at him, he could see that her eyes were a dark brown instead of robin's egg blue. 

He shrugged. _Might as well, make an idiot of myself and make sure it's not her,_ he thought. 

"Hi," he said, approaching her. "I'm looking for somebody . . . " he began. 

Putting down her book, she looked up at him and smiled, obviously liking what she saw. "Lucky girl," she commented. 

"I'm sorry to bother you, but it's just that you look a lot like her." 

"Sounds like a pick up line, if I've ever heard one," she replied. She nodded at the seat across from her. "Why don't you sit down and tell me about this lady who had the bad taste to stand a man like you up." 

"Here's her picture," he said, handing her the picture as he sat down. 

"She's pretty," the woman commented. "What's her name?" 

"Stormy Weathers." 

"Sounds like a stripper to me. Is that what she is?" 

"No, she's supposed to be a detective." 

"Supposed to be? Sounds like you're not too sure about that." 

"I've never met her. So I don't know," John admitted reluctantly. 

"You want some coffee?" she asked as a waitress poured her a refill. She handed the picture back to John. 

John shook his head. He looked at the picture again. "You do resemble her a lot. Of course, your hair and eyes are a different color, but . . . " 

She smiled. "But . . . " 

"But hair can be colored and contacts can be used to change eye color," John said thoughtfully. 

"That's what I've heard," the woman replied, her eyes twinkling in amusement. 

"You're her, aren't you?" 

She nodded. "I was wondering how long it would take you to figure that out," she said, laughing lightly. "After you left the first time, I was afraid I'd have to run out and catch you." 

"I guess it's true when they say we reporters are trained observers," John admitted good-humoredly. "But why the disguise?" 

"That's what they mean by working undercover. I don't think it'd be a good idea if I was seen talking to you. You never know who might be watching or who they might talk to. After all you're obvious enough as it is, but if the two of us were seen together it could be disastrous." 

"Obvious? I don't think I'm obvious." 

"Tiger, wherever you go, you're obvious." 

"I am?" 

"Let's see, a big, broad-shouldered blonde with the looks of a modern day Apollo. Yeah . . . " 

"Apollo? Don't you think that's kind of stretching it?" 

"I guess you didn't notice how every woman in this room stared at you when you came in. That cashier you were talking to was practically drooling." 

"I guess next time I'll have to go for a more casual look; something in rags and a beard, maybe." 

Stormy shook her head with a wide grin. "I think I could get to like you, tiger." Then she grew serious. "So why the meeting? Don't think I can do the job?" 

"I don't know. Frank Scanlon recommended you, so I know you must be good, but my father's life is at stake here. I can't feel right about this unless I have a chance to talk to you," John explained. 

"I hope you weren't thinking of handling the investigation on your own," she said seriously. 

"I did think about it," John admitted reluctantly. 

"Don't. It's better if you leave this in the hands of a professional." 

"Now wait a minute . . . " 

"I don't mean it as an insult. Look, would you handle his defense by yourself?" 

"No, but . . . " 

"Would you let me run that newspaper of yours?" 

"No." 

"Why?" 

"Because you have no experience, no training." 

"My point exactly. You can't just one day decide, 'jeez I'm going to become a detective'. It takes a lot of training, and experience to be a good private detective. And since we're looking at a capital case here, the more training and experience the better." 

"I know that, but . . . " 

"But what? Mr. Scanlon did show you my dossier didn't he?" 

"Yes, he did. It looked great. Like you said, you have a lot of experience, and you have handled a lot of big, very important cases with great results, but . . . " 

"What?" 

"It didn't tell me a lot of important things." 

Stormy frowned. "What didn't it tell you?" 

"Like what kind of person you are, and most important whether you think my father's innocent or not." 

Gazing at John thoughtfully, Stormy was silent for a few moments. She took a deep breath. "I know Mr. Scanlon largely by reputation. I also only know your father by reputation. Reputations can be tricky. They can hide a lot." 

John nodded his agreement. "That's why I insisted on meeting you." 

"I haven't met your father yet. That's next on my list. But I have spoken to Mr. Scanlon. He believes your father is innocent. In fact he refuses to even consider the remotest possibility of guilt. Mr. Scanlon doesn't strike me as the kind of man who would allow his personal feelings affect his judgement. So if he believes your father is innocent, I must assume that he is innocent as well." 

"Especially since Frank is paying you." 

"That has nothing with it," Stormy said. "And that's the most important thing I want you and your entire family, including Mr. Scanlon to understand. I'm not a hired gun. I don't turn a blind eye to evidence that might run counter to what my client wants. My main purpose is to discover the truth. If I do find that your father did kill that girl, I will not conceal or ignore that evidence." 

John nodded thoughtfully. He grimly looked at the woman sitting across from him. "You won't find anything that proves him guilty. He didn't kill that girl." 

"You can know someone all your life and then suddenly find out one day that you didn't know that person as well as you thought you did." 

"I know that," John retorted more heatedly than he had intended, not mentioning that his father had kept both him and his sister in the dark their entire lives about his secret life as the Green Hornet. "But I am willing to state uncategorically that my father did not kill that girl." 

"If he is innocent, I promise you I will find the evidence to prove it," Stormy said firmly. 

"That's quite a promise you're making there. You're putting yourself way out on a limb." 

"I know, and maybe I shouldn't, but I have a feeling that you and Mr. Scanlon are right." 

"Why?" 

"Because from what I've read and heard about your father. I don't think he'd kill somebody in a fit of anger and then hang around for the cops to find him with bloody hands. No, I have a feeling that if he did kill somebody, it wouldn't be out of anger and there sure as hell wouldn't be any evidence linking him to it either." 

"I guess that's something." 

"It's a lot. Somebody did set up your father. They went to a lot of trouble, but something happened. Something that shouldn't have. They intended to have a dead body there, but it wasn't. I strongly believe that girl is still out there. Somebody knows where she is or what happened to her. We just have to find that person." 

"That's a long shot," John reluctantly admitted. 

"But one nevertheless." 

"Problem is that if we're thinking that way, so probably are the people who set up my dad." 

"Right, so I have to find her before they do." 

"You mean we have to find her." 

"Now, John . . . " 

"Just because I'm not a detective doesn't mean that I or the people at the Sentinel can't keep an eye out for anything leading to that girl." 

"You're right. The more eyes and ears we have out there, the better, but I want you to promise me that you bring any and all leads to me and let me do the follow up. Okay?" 

John grimaced. "Okay. There's more one thing I want to talk to you about." 

"What's that?" 

"There's nothing in your dossier about how you came to be called Stormy or why you became a private detective. I did read that you completed your police academy training on the East coast and graduated near the top of your class, but there's nothing there why you chose to go private instead of staying on the force." 

Stormy gazed off into the distance for a few moments. Then a slight, sad smile appeared on her face. "Believe it or not, Stormy is my real name. I was born on a commune in New Mexico. My parents were hippies and were really into that back to nature scene. They made their own clothes and grew their own food. My brother's name was August because he was born in August, and I . . . Well, I was born on a stormy night. So they named me Stormy." 

Her smile turned wistful. "My mother said that was the biggest mistake they had ever made. She said I was exactly that, Stormy. I was always getting into trouble. I was hardheaded, stubborn and had absolutely no ability to listen to anybody. I'm afraid I was far from being the perfect child of the summer of love. If anything I was probably the exact opposite. 

"Now August, Augie, was different. He looked kind of like you. Blonde, blue-eyed, but kind of soft. He was like one of those summer days when all you want to do was sit in the shade and listen to the bees hum. Nothing ever seemed to bother him. He got along with everybody and never had a bad thing to say about anybody. He was the sweetest guy you'd ever met." 

Hearing the sorrow in her voice, John asked very gently, "What happened?" 

Closing her eyes, Stormy shook her head against the memories. "We were just kids. The whole peace thing was starting to unravel, but my parents stayed on. A lot of their friends left to become stockbrokers, bankers, whatever, but my parents stayed true to their beliefs. They loved the land. My mother made wonderful shawls from our sheep and the best cheese ever from the goats. They trusted everyone. They just seemed like they couldn't understand that there could be true evil in anyone. It's like they couldn't be suspicious of anyone. That was their biggest mistake. 

"Part of that scene, of course, were the drugs. Mainly they grew their own weed. Just for their own use and for anybody who happened to drop in. They didn't see anything more wrong in it than growing your own wine or brewing your own beer. There weren't any of those drunken parties or sex orgies that some people liked to imagine. They lived simply. 

"They were always willing to accept anybody who happened to show up at the commune. Runaway kids, women running from abusive husbands, or just people who had lost their way. Some of them stayed for a while, but most moved on, either after finding their feet or because they didn't expect there would be so much hard work involved. Then one day it happened." 

Stormy paused wiping at her eyes with a trembling hand. "Sorry, I thought it wouldn't hurt so much after so many years." 

"Look, Stormy, if it hurts too much . . . " John began. 

Stormy shook her head. "No, it's all right. I'm okay. Sometimes it helps to tell somebody." She took a deep breath. "This kid just appeared one day. He was one of those lost ones. He was not only lost to his family, he was lost to himself. I never knew his past, all I knew was that by the time he showed up at the commune, he had buried himself in a witches' brew of drugs. He thought my parents had stashed somewhere on the commune something that was a lot stronger than the weed. I remember him always sneaking around, looking for hard core stuff or money. My folks didn't have either. Then it caught up with him. And my parents. It was monstrous acid flashback. He started screaming and then he grabbed a big knife and started slashing. 

"Augie and I ran into the fields, my parents didn't. They tried to stop him. We kept on running and running. It must have been miles and miles. We finally found a sheep herder's camp. He took us in and contacted the police." 

Stormy stopped talking for a moment, the words caught in her throat. Then she continued, "He slashed at anything in his reach. Sheep, goats, the dog. My parents. Finally himself. It was a closed casket ceremony. Two caskets. There was a Buddhist priest and a Catholic one. Both good friends of my parents. 

"My mother's parents took us back East. I always had a feeling that somehow they felt that what had happened was in some way my parents' own fault. That they had somehow brought it on themselves. They never said that in so many words. They treated us okay. Tried to raise Augie and me the way they thought we should be raised. 

"It was so different. We were used to high sharp mountains and skies so blue it hurt your eyes. We rarely saw a building higher three or four stories tall. And there we were among buildings that blocked out the sky no matter where we looked. People were always in a rush. Always on their way to somewhere to do something. Nobody had any time for two lost little kids. I never saw Augie smile again. 

"As soon as he was old enough, he entered the police academy. He graduated top of his class. A few years later so did I. Augie was the best cop on the force. He was known as a real straight arrow. Did everything by the book. He'd get on a case and even if it took him years, he'd stick with it until it was solved." Stormy paused, staring down at the paper napkin she had unknowingly shredded into tiny, white, pieces of lint. 

"What happened?" John asked very gently. 

"Augie was undercover. It was going to be a major drug bust, but there was a leak. Augie's cover was blown. They found what was left of him near the railroad tracks. Somebody tried to start a rumor that he was dirty. That he had been double-crossed by his partners. Everybody on the force knew that was a lie. Everybody knew that Augie was clean. He was just that type of person that everybody could count on to do the right thing. They all knew that he didn't have a dishonest bone in his body. 

"There was talk that the rumor had been started from someone very high up. Somebody was trying to cover their tracks by making it look like Augie was the leak. We never knew who was the real source. There was a big cover-up. Some people were transferred out or left the state. No one was punished. Their shame was buried under a code of silence. 

"I got tired of the whole scene. And I got tired of the snow and cold. So I moved out to sunny California, joined up with a small detective agency and when the guy who owned it retired, I took over." 

Stormy shook her head, seeing the concern on John's face. A self-deprecating grin appeared on her face. "That was a long time ago. Don't worry about me, Tiger. I'm a survivor." 

"I can see that," John answered. 

"You mind if we leave?" Stormy said, pushing out of her chair. "I need some fresh air." 

"Sure. Do you feel like a walk? There's a park nearby. I'd like to discuss my father's case more with you." 

"Sounds good to me," Stormy replied. 

For a few minutes John and Stormy walked in silence through the park, each lost in their own thoughts. They finally stopped at the edge of the duck pond and watched children toss pieces of bread to the ducks gathered around their feet. 

"Do you have any plans on what direction your investigation is going to take?" John asked. 

"I think my best bet is Archer. I'm working on getting inside his inner circle. That's why I want to limit my contact with anyone associated with your family or paper. The less chance of blowing my cover, the better." 

"Archer sounds like a good place to start. He has the money to set up a complicated scheme like this and he certainly does want the Sentinel." 

Stormy nodded her agreement. "Exactly. He has the means and the motive." 

"We just have to find the method." 

"And the evidence," Stormy added. 

"So who are you working on?" 

"I was thinking about Archer, but that De la Culebra woman is trouble. No way I'm going to even chance crossing her. I'm working on one of his partners, Sam Sprite." 

"He's the head of LogicSoft's games division isn't he?" 

"Yeah. Archer bought his company out quite a few years ago. There's little love lost between them. He's going to be taking me to some party tonight. I'll probably be seeing Archer there, too. Will you be there?" 

"No way. I've never been into going to society parties. That job belonged to my folks. Besides the Reid family is kind of persona non grata to those society types right now. Nobody wants to have anything to do with us. At least not until they find out which way the wind's blowing. Once my father's name is cleared, everybody will be our friends again, pretending that they were on our side from the start," he added bitterly. 

Stormy gazed at John for a few minutes as he gazed thoughtfully at the children squealing with delight as the ducks jostled for the pieces of bread they threw among them. Her breath caught in her throat for a moment as a stray bit of the morning sun caught his hair, setting it ablaze. She shook her head, dispelling the image. _Apollo's damn right_, she thought, _That's all I need is to get involved with a client's son. _"This will be the last time we will meet in person," she said aloud, "I don't want to take any more chances than I have to." _No need to tempt myself any more than I have to_, she added mentally. 

"I'll make sure our people keep their eyes and ears open. How do I contact you if we come up with anything interesting?" 

"Through Mr. Scanlon. I'll be keeping in touch with him regularly. But, John . . . " 

"Yes?" 

"I don't want you or anybody else taking any chances. Get word to me as soon as something turns up." she said firmly. 

John tilted his head, a glimmer of amusement in his storm grey eyes, "Yes, ma'am, anything you say, ma'am." 

IV 

The Lakeview Country Club sat atop a great prow of cliff over looking the great lake. It was said that the wooded shores of Canada could be seen from its tall wraparound colonnaded porch. It was also said that the vast wealth that supported the club had come from arrangements made with those who shipped contraband over the waters between Canada and the U.S. during World War II. Those rumors were hotly denied now by the club's staidly conservative members, not a few of whom were reputed to have grown wealthy from those illicit shipments. 

These days the club's members drove to the club from the city many miles away to the club to get away from the pressures of business and to play a few rounds of golf or tennis. Or to host extravagant balls in the name of charity. 

Sam Sprite smiled proudly as he escorted Stormy into the club's large ballroom. Stormy was wearing a simple pale blue sheath dress of silk shot with silver thread. Instead of a plunging neckline she had chosen a simple boat-neck and a long chain of silver-white fresh water pearls. Her golden hair was caught up with a soft chignon secured by a matching barrette of pale blue silk and seed pearls. In deference to the cool spring evening she completed her ensemble with a white silk and angora blend knitted shawl. 

"You look beautiful. I was worried that you wouldn't find anything right for the party and would have to cancel." 

Stormy laughed lightly. "As long as I have a credit card and there's a mall around, I can always find something to wear. Besides it was on sale." 

"A double benefit, I take it," Sam said. 

"Yep" Stormy replied. "Nothing's better than finding the perfect dress, except maybe finding it on sale." 

"There's Julius," Sam said, pointing to a large knot of people in the middle of the room. Archer was expansively speaking with large gestures to his circle of admirers and sycophants. At his side stood the red head, Shannon De la Culebra stood at his side listening to the chatter with a bored look on her face. Multiple chains of large gold disks and rough cut rubies spilled down her ample bosom and her blazing hair tumbled down in copious waves from a golden diadem in the Roman manner. Also in the Roman manner she was wearing a long low cut chiton, but in a shade of scarlet that no proper Roman woman would have worn. 

Archer grasped Stormy's hand in a firm, but cool, dry clasp when Sam introduced her to him and Shannon. He regarded her with a cool, measuring gaze as Sam explained how they had met. 

"So you're from L.A., Ashley?" Shannon said in a deceptively sweet voice. "What brings you to the chilly mid-west?" 

"I'm with the Miller Graphic Design Group. I'm checking out some locations for a few ads for one of our clients. While California has a lot to offer, they're specifically interested in some Great Lakes and Mid-West locations," Stormy explained. She had no doubt that Shannon would check her story out thoroughly. It was helpful that her cousin, Ashley, was really in town for that exact same reason. It was also helpful that cousin Ashley was a blue-eyed blonde who loved to help Stormy whenever she needed to be in two places at once. After all one buxom, blue-eyed blonde looked like another in most people's eyes. 

"Sam explained to me that your company produces a lot of war simulation games," Stormy said, addressing Archer. 

"Yes, we do. We're especially proud of our games division. A lot of our games are best sellers," Archer commented. 

"Sam tells me that you're working on one based on a terrorist attack on the Global Commerce Center." 

Archer glanced at Sam who shrugged uncomfortably. "That is one of our projects. At this point, however, it is in only in the preliminary stages of development. It may never be released." 

"Oh? Why is that?" 

"It all depends on how well it is received by our focus groups." 

"So you don't think this one will be well received? Doesn't that get expensive, developing a game and then never releasing it?" 

Archer smiled patronizingly, "Actually very few of the games we start development actually see the store shelves. We have to go through hundreds, if not thousands of ideas before we actually get one off the drawing broad. But it's well worth it. A best seller can bring in millions. 

I'm sure you see that in your own industry. After all you have to do a lot of leg work and create a lot of designs before you settle on something your client might like." 

"I know what you mean," Stormy smiled wryly, "Unfortunately sometimes that's just the beginning. You never know what will be a hit with the public. 

"From how Sam described that game though, maybe it's just as well if it's never released. I'd be afraid it might give some potential terrorists the idea of really attacking the Global Commerce Center. After all, it's one thing if it's about a non-existent location, but a real place... I'd be worried that a simulation, even if it's only a game, could show weak spots that a real terrorist could take advantage of." 

"Now, my dear Ashley," Archer said, "Surely you haven't listening all those old fogey's about video games warping children's minds, are you?" 

"It's not the children I'm worried about. It's the adults," Stormy countered. 

Archer started to say something, but his reply was drowned about by shouting near the edge of the large room. A tall, dark haired man was arguing with a pretty, young woman with black hair. 

"Don't you dare say something like that, you...., you, pig!" the girl screamed. The sound of her slapping his face could be heard throughout the entire room. "I don't want to ever see you again!" She gathered up the skirts of her lavender dress and marched toward the front door. "Somebody call me a taxi!" she demanded in a loud voice. "I refuse to stay here one more moment!" 

The club's major domo glanced toward Archer who nodded to him. The man turned and escorted the enraged girl through the door. Before the door closed Stormy could hear the sharp blast of a whistle as a waiting taxi was called for the girl. 

Stormy noted with curiosity that two large men in well-cut tuxedos seemed to be angling for the dark-haired man as he stalked toward Archer. They paused uncertainly, torn between following the girl or following the man. She caught a quick glance between them and Archer. They stopped in their tracks and moved instead toward the edges of the room until they were out of sight. 

"Monsieur Archer, Madame De la Culebra," the dark-haired man said in light French accent, "I am so sorry for Mademoiselle Reid's outburst." 

"That's quite all right, Jacques," Shannon spoke up before Archer could say a word, "What was the problem?" 

Jacques shrugged, "We had a small argument about her father. I told her that while I understand her being faithful to her father, I had some doubts about his innocence." He shrugged again. "Unfortunately she could not see the matter in an impartial light. She became quite angry at me." 

"That's too bad," Shannon said, feigning sympathy, "You seemed to make such a lovely couple." 

"It is no matter. She is too young anyway. After all a more mature woman, a more worldly woman, like yourself for instance, would be able to be more objective about the matter. N'est-ce pas?" 

"Perhaps," Archer said, breaking into the conversation, "but I would have thought you would have been more tactful." 

"It is just as well, I was tiring of her and since this situation with her father, she has become tiresome." 

"So I take it you will be leaving for France soon?" Shannon asked. 

"In a few weeks, maybe," the Frenchman replied, "I miss France and quite frankly I have become bored with this city. I never should have stayed here so long, but..." 

"But there was Miss Reid," Shannon added knowingly. 

"A pretty girl, a wealthy family of good standing, there are less enjoyable ways to spend one's winter in the United States," Jacques answered off handedly. 

"Especially since you've gotten what you've come for," Archer said, trying to sound as offhanded as Jacques. 

"I was not after anything but an amusing way to spend my time," Jacques replied. "And who is this beautiful creature?" he said, noticing Stormy for the first time. 

"I'm sorry, I must have forgotten my manners," Archer said, "This is Ashley Warren," Archer said. "And I'm sure you've met Sam before." 

Jacques nodded a greeting to Sam, "Of course, Monsieur Sprite, I trust you are doing well. I have heard that your games are doing quite well in the marketplace." 

"We did very well last Christmas, but we can never relax on our past successes or somebody will overtake us. We always have to make sure that we keep ahead of the competition otherwise we will lose our market share. After all, today's hit is tomorrow's clearance item." 

"How difficult that must be," Jacques said, "But surely you do have the opportunity to relax once in a while, otherwise you would not have been so fortunate to have found such a beautiful date. I am most envious of your great luck." 

Taking Stormy's hand, he kissed it, "Enchante' Mademoiselle Warren," he said very warmly. "It is always a pleasure to meet such a lovely lady. My eyes are blinded by your beauty." 

Stormy smiled back at the Frenchman as she retrieved her hand, "I bet you say that to every woman you meet." 

"Only to the beautiful ones," he replied smoothly. "Alas there are not as many as one would think. But I feel that I am most fortunate to have two such rare jewels before me," he said including Shannon in his compliment. 

"Talking of jewels," Archer said, "Have you seen any interesting ones during your visit in this city?" 

"Although I do sometimes find myself occasionally intrigued by one gem or another," Jacques replied, "I am not quite the fancier of jewels as you might think. I must admit though that I find Madame De la Culebra's taste in gems most fascinating." 

"Thank you," Shannon murmured as she fingered the heavy strands around her neck. 

"I see," Archer commented, "I thought that you were well known for your interest in rare gems. In fact I have even heard that Interpol was interested in you because of that interest." 

"Interpol has been interested in me in the past because I have occasionally been on the scene when something has disappeared. But that is in the past. Lately their attention has been diverted elsewhere." 

"Oh, so you have become interested in other things. Such as what? Maybe paintings like Picasso or El Greco?" 

"At times I do find paintings interesting but, usually I can take them or leave them," Jacques replied carelessly. 

"Take them..., I find that interesting. Have you recently found something to take lately and leave something much less in return?" 

Jacques frowned thoughtfully then said, "Perhaps I recall something that was in the hands of one who was not worthy of it and perhaps something was left that was a bit more fitting. Surely it is not wrong to take something from one who did not it deserve in the first place. Who knows, there might even be people who consider the taking a service to mankind." 

Stormy noted that Archer's pale complexion was starting to pinken even though Shannon was not showing any reaction to the men's odd conversation. Like herself, Sam Sprite seemed to be completely at a loss as to what Archer and the Frenchman was talking about. 

"And our dear Miss Reid, does she too share that opinion?" 

"She seems to be always game for a bit of adventure, especially if it is connected with her family's little newspaper. But she in entirely blameless in anything I might have done," Jacques replied. 

"Perhaps," Archer said so calmly that Stormy was not sure she heard the implied threat in his voice, "It would be a pity if something happened to her because of your foolishness." 

"Monsieur Archer," Jacques said equally as calmly even though there was steel hidden in the mildness of his voice, "I would urge anyone who might think of harming Mademoiselle Reid to rethink their actions. I would not be only one who would seek revenge. And I would assure you that anyone who did do such a thing would suffer mightily for it." 

Archer rocked on his feet. "I believe the night is getting too long for you. You are starting to overstep your bounds. It might be a good idea for you to call it a night," he said, tightly keeping hold of his temper. 

"Perhaps you are right," Jacques said. Then with a curt nod he nodded to Stormy, Sprite and Shannon. "Good night, Madame, Mademoiselle, Monsieurs." 

"What the hell were you two talking about?" Sam demanded of Archer as Jacques threaded his way through the ballroom. 

"None of your business," Shannon said sharply before Archer could reply. 

"I consider it part of my business if that French dandy's threats should adversely affect LogicSoft" 

"Just keep on churning out those games," Shannon answered. "We'll take care of LogicSoft." 

"And what if I decide to stop churning out those games. What if I publish on the internet the details of some of the games I'm working on? Especially those that are practically blueprints for terrorism." 

"You wouldn't dare," Archer hissed through clenched teeth. 

"If your actions threaten LogicSoft, I will. I'll make sure that the board of directors hear all about what has been happening around here lately," he threatened. 

"Oh is our little gamemaker starting to develop a backbone?" Shannon simpered as she batted her eyes. 

"Ashley, I think it's time you and I call it a night too," Sprite said sharply as he turned on his heel. 

Stormy tried to look dignified as she struggled to catch up with Sam. Finally catching up with him she breathlessly gasped, "What's going on, Sam?" 

"Archer is getting way out of line," he muttered more to himself than in answer to Stormy's question. "Something has got to be done before his ambition destroys us all." 

"What to you mean?" Stormy demanded, roughly grabbing Sprite's arm. 

Sam paused, suddenly realizing that Stormy was standing in front of him. "I'm sorry Ashley. I meant to show you a good time. I'm sorry about everything." 

"Can't you tell me what's happening? I know some people who can help." 

Sam shook his head. "No one can help me. Not even God. Just forget what happened. It's too dangerous. Let me call you a taxi," he added as the doorman escorted them through the front doors. 

"But Sam," Stormy started, then stopped, seeing the panic in Sam's eyes. Sam turned away from her and headed for the valet parking lot as a waiting taxi pulled up to the doorman's whistle. As she bent to get into the taxi she noticed a rose boutonniere on the walkway. "Le Blanc," she said under her breath, noticing that it was the same unusual variety that the Frenchman had been wearing. 

She glanced around, but couldn't see anything suspicious, but her internal radar was screaming a warning. "Ma'am" the doorman said politely as he held the taxi door open for her. Stormy looked for Sam and saw him paying the valet before stepping into his car, a black Volvo sedan. "I've changed my mind," she said to the doorman, "I don't need a taxi." 

"Sam," she yelled, waving her hand to catch his attention. 

Sam turned around, gaping open-mouthed as she ran to him as quickly as her high heels would allow. 

"We got to talk," she said. 

"Maybe later," Sam said, getting into the Volvo. 

Stormy stopped him from closing his door, "No, now," she demanded. 

Sam uneasily looked around them. "You're making a scene," he said worriedly, "I'll give you a call." 

"No, you won't. We both know that. You're in big trouble..." 

"Ashley, you don't want to get involved in this," he protested in a low voice. 

"I'm already involved. You want to discuss this in front of everybody or in your car?" 

"Okay," Sam said, relenting, "Get in." 

"Good," Stormy said, hurrying to get into the car before he changed his mind. 

"Now, tell me what this is all about," Stormy asked. 

Sam shook his head as he worriedly watched the dark road ahead of them. "This isn't a game, Ashley. I have a feeling that things are going too far. It could get dangerous." He risked a look at her, "You could get hurt." 

"I have a confession to make," Stormy replied, "I lied, my name isn't really Ashley Warren. It's really Stormy Weathers..." 

The Volvo swerved slightly when Sam shot a surprised look at Stormy. 

"Yes, before you ask," she continued, "That really is my name. Let's just say that my folks had a weird sense of humor and let it go at that. Anyway, truth of the matter is that I'm a private detective." 

"You are?" Sam demanded in disbelief. 

"Yes, I am. I was hired by the Reid family to investigate the murder he is accused of." 

"But what does that has to do with me?" 

"I don't know, but I do think that Julius Archer has a lot to with it. He is the one who has the motive and the means to destroy Britt Reid by framing him for murder." 

"So you think Britt Reid is innocent." 

"That's what I'm being paid to find out." 

"But aren't you sure he's innocent?" 

Stormy shrugged, "I don't have proof one way or the other, but my gut feeling is that he is. Otherwise I wouldn't be doing the investigation, no matter how much they paid me." 

"But why me?" 

"Because you're on the inside and you strike me as being an honest man..." 

"Not like Julius..." Sam supplied. 

"Right." Stormy caught the glare of headlights behind them. They disappeared as they rounded a bend in the road, then reappeared. _Could be nothing,_ she thought. _But why do they make me nervous?_

"Archer is up to something. Something a lot bigger than a simple hostile takeover of a newspaper. I think it has something to do with that game you were mentioning. It's not really a game is it?" 

"No, I'm starting to think more and more that it isn't, despite what Julius is claiming. It's not something that I or anyone on my team came up with. I probably wasn't even supposed to find it. But when I run across a file on our network that's so heavily encrypted even I'm not allowed into it, my first reaction is to find a way into it." 

"What about secret projects for the government?" 

"My security level allows me into those. I've done black box projects for the government that are so secret I can't even talk about them in my dreams." 

"So this one was unusual." Stormy tried to catch a furtive look in the rear view mirror. The head lights were still behind them. It was a long drive back into town from the club and they were on an open stretch high above the cliffs overlooking the lake. Scenic in the day, at night it made her nervous. She reached into her small purse and felt the reassuring shape of the small Colt .380 Government Pocketlite inside it. Although the gun was less than a pound in weight it was powerful and accurate enough to do the job of a much larger weapon. 

"Yeah," Sam continued, seemingly not aware of her movements. "So, of course I hacked into it." 

"And it was the game you were talking about." 

"Right, at least that's what Archer said it was. When I asked him why I had been locked out of it, he gave me some nonsense about it being a personal project that he was too embarrassed to talk to me about. He said he was afraid it wasn't good enough." 

"But why didn't he just say that it was a government project?" 

"Wouldn't wash. All military simulation projects go through me. I wouldn't have let it bother me, but once I found that hidden file, I started looking for more." 

"And you found them..." 

"Yeah, lots. I didn't get into all of them. There were too many and it takes a lot of work and time to crack the lock on them. Archer's up to something bad and it's starting to scare me." 

"You could go to the police about it," Stormy suggested. 

"With what? Game simulations? It's not against the law to design games or even create war simulations. As long as those plans are not acted on, they aren't illegal. Archer hasn't done anything illegal yet." 

"Except maybe engineer the murder of a young girl and frame an innocent man for it." 

"You need proof," Sam reminded her. 

"So what are you going to do?" 

"Bring it to the board of directors like I mentioned. Between them and me, we'll have enough votes to make him step down as CEO." 

"If you can convince them that he's a danger to the company." 

"Right, and I'm sure I can do that. They would rather get rid of somebody before they become an embarrassment to the company which Archer would become if his machinations became public." 

"Have you considered that they might decide to get rid of you instead?" Stormy asked him pointedly. 

She lowered the visor in front of her in order to see the car behind them better. Even though she tried to look casual, pretending to check her makeup, Sam noticed what she was doing. 

"You've been watching them too," he said, making it a statement, not a guess. 

"Yeah, I don't like the looks of them. They've been on our tail ever since we left the club. We're not going that fast. Most people would've gotten around us a long time ago." She shot a glance at the dark waters far below them. "This is too good a place for an 'accident'." 

Sam sped up and the car behind them lagged a few moments. Suddenly it accelerated. 

"I think they've decided it's time to quit pretending." 

The Volvo sped up, but the car, a heavy SUV, quickly overtook them. With a screeching protest of metal against metal the SUV sideswiped them. Sam, prepared for them, turned toward them instead allowing himself to be pushed onto the sandy shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he urged his solidly built car ahead of the bulkier vehicle. Lower than the SUV it clung closely to the road as it accelerated into and out of the curves, while the SUV had to slow down or risk losing control. 

The SUV caught up with them on a straight stretch of the road. Ahead of them they could see the first glimmers of the city outskirts. Suddenly the side window behind Sam disintegrated with the blast of a shot gun. 

"Faster, Sam," Stormy urged unnecessarily. She pulled out her gun, but with a curse of frustration shoved it back into her purse. While it might be good for close in, it was useless for shooting a large moving target at any kind of distance. 

"We're goners," Sam moaned. 

"Never give up," Stormy said, even though she felt as hopeless as he did. Especially since she could see another set of headlights rapidly coming up behind them. Even though she could not see the flash of red, white and blue lights, she prayed that it meant rescue, but cynically expected it meant more trouble. 

Another blast from the shotgun peppered the Volvo in an explosion of deafening sound and fury. The Volvo swerved under the attack. It was getting too much for Sam whose only exposure to violence was in a game. Tears of fear were streaking down his face as his hands shook on the steering wheel. 

"Stormy, we're gonna die!" 

The SUV was even with them. In the darkness they couldn't see the faces of their killers, only the ugly gleam of the shotgun's barrel. Suddenly the SUV shook and swerved. Open-mouthed, Stormy saw a brief flash of light come from the front of the car behind them. Unbelievably, the car was firing rockets and luckily for the them it was aiming at their attackers. 

Now the pursued instead of the pursuer, the SUV broke off its attack on the Volvo, racing past them with its attacker hot on its tail. 

"The Green Hornet," Sam said in an awed voice as a long black car passed them. 

"That's him?" Stormy asked. 

Sam nodded as he pulled to the side of the road. "I think I'm going to be sick," he said quickly opening his door. 

"Sam," Stormy said getting out as well. "Are you going to be alright?" she asked. 

Sam nodded. "Yeah." He looked down the road where the black car and the SUV had disappeared. "Oh my god, what have we gotten into?" 

Stormy could see that Sam wasn't going to be driving anywhere tonight. He was too shaken up to do anything but lean against his car. Seeing that he was going to be okay, she walked around the Volvo. Taking in its bullet ridden carcass, she had serious questions whether or not it was going anywhere under its own power tonight, especially since she saw a suspicious dripping of liquid underneath it. She touched a finger into the liquid and sniffed it. Gas. 

"Sam," she said, "I think we ought to head back into town." 

"I don't think I can drive," he protested. 

"We're not driving," Stormy answered. "We're walking. Your car is leaking gas." 

"Oh," Sam replied. "I can call someone to pick us up," he offered as he pulled out his cell phone. 

"I don't think that'd be a good idea. Word might get back to Archer," Stormy said as she pulled out her own cell. "I know someone who might be able to help." For a moment she thought about calling John Reid. It would be good to talk to him again. Instead she dialed Scanlon's number. It was busy. She sighed and dialed John's. No answer, just the answering machine. 

"No go," she said, putting her cell back into her purse. "Damn, if I'd known I was going to be hiking home, I'd have worn sneakers." 

Sam pulled off his jacket and gallantly gave it to Stormy. "Here," he said, "You look cold." 

Stormy smiled her thanks, then her smile faded into uncertainty. A car was coming up to them. She pulled out her gun, prepared for anything. 

The Green Hornet stepped out of the car. "Is that how you greet someone who's saved your life?" he asked. 

Stormy keep her gun leveled at his chest. "I do when I don't know what he's up to." 

"It's getting cold out here. Wouldn't you rather get into my car where it's warmer?" 

Stormy hesitated, but still kept her gun aimed at the Green Hornet. 

"It's a long walk back into town in those heels you're wearing," he commented. 

"Stormy," Sam said from behind her, "I think we can trust him." 

"I don't know. What happened to the SUV? Did you kill them?" she asked. 

"No. They're still alive. We couldn't continue pursuit once we hit town. Too much risk of running into the cops. I'm surprised that you care what happened to them. If they had their way, you would have been dead." 

"Why did you save us?" Stormy asked. 

"Let's just say I have an interest in some of Archer's business dealings. I was watching the club when I saw the SUV leave after you did. It didn't look right so I decided to see what would happen." 

"I'm not saying that I'm not grateful..." Stormy began. 

"Then leave it at that. My reasons for saving your lives are my own. Now do you want a ride back into town, or do you plan on walking the next ten miles?" 

"Stormy," Sam said, "He's right. Besides, he's the Green Hornet." 

Stormy stared at Sam. She expected him to be frightened at the idea of riding with the legendary masked criminal, but instead he appeared to be overcome with excitement. "But..." she said to him. 

"Good God, the Green Hornet, Kato, the Black Beauty... This is fantastic. Do you how many game designers have wanted to do one on the Green Hornet? To actually ride in the Black Beauty... That's been the biggest dream of my life. Wait a minute, I got to get something out of my car," he said excitedly as he opened the Volvo's trunk and pulled out a small briefcase. 

With an exasperated sigh, Stormy finally lowered her gun. "Looks like you have a fan there," she said to the Green Hornet. 

"Looks like it," he agreed wryly. "Wait a minute," he said to Sam, "What do you have in that briefcase?" 

Sam stopped, blinking owlishly at the Green Hornet. "Well, I have my laptop. I never go without it. Oh, and my sketch pad. Uh, would you pose for me?" he asked hopefully. 

The Green Hornet shook his head. "No," he said, "I don't think so, and..." he added when Sam started reaching for front passenger door, "You ride in the back with us." 

"Okay," Sam said agreeably and slid into the back seat. 

The Green Hornet bowed to Stormy, "After you, madam." 

Stormy stood for a moment studying the Green Hornet, then finally putting her gun back into her purse, climbed in. She noticed that Sam was already busy with paper and pencil. She shook her head in wonder. _Those sketches could come in handy later_, she consoled herself thoughtfully. 

"Where are you taking us?" she asked the Green Hornet as he settled in next to her. 

"There's a motel nearby. We'll drop you off there. I'll give you some money for it." 

" I don't need your money, I have a credit card.." 

"I don't think it'd be a good idea to use your credit card. At least not yet. Same thing with making phone calls. Somebody's out to kill you. It wouldn't be a good idea to give them a way of finding out where you are," the Green Hornet said. 

"You don't need to worry about me," Stormy said acidly to the Green Hornet. "I'm a private investigator, I don't need any advice from some cheap crook." 

The Green Hornet smiled patronizingly at her, "I assure you, Miss Weathers, I am anything but cheap." 

True to his word, the Green Hornet took them to a small motel along the highway. It was a simple mom and pop place that looked well kept up with a short two story L of no more than fifty rooms. Sam had enough cash to pay for their rooms while Stormy waited in the Black Beauty that sat just out of the light of the motel's brightly lit sign. Sam returned with two keys and directed them to a back corner of the motel. 

The Green Hornet walked Stormy to the door of her room. Stormy noticed that Sam had hung behind. He was busy talking happily to Kato as he caressed the Black Beauty's smooth body. "Looks like he's in love," Stormy commented to the Green Hornet. 

"The Black Beauty seems to have that effect on some people," the Green Hornet said. 

Stormy took a moment to closely study the masked man. He was tall, over six feet and even though the long overcoat gave little hint of his build, she could tell that from the way he moved that he was well-built and athletic. He had a strong jaw line and a firm mouth. The kind a woman would like to kiss, neither effeminately full nor cruelly thin. __

_To kiss.._. Stormy shook herself mentally, surprised at where her thoughts were leading. _It must be because I'm so tired_, she told herself. Still there was something about those smouldering grey eyes that captivated her. _Grey eyes... smoke grey,_ she thought, her mind again wandering into dangerous places. _There must be something about a masked man. So sexy...._

Forcibly pulling herself away from her thoughts, Stormy tried to act casual. "I think it's time to call it a night. I'm beat," she said, unlocking her door. She rolled her shoulders, trying to get a kink out of them. 

"Looks like you could use a back rub," the Green Hornet said. He too, seemed to be unnecessarily delaying his leaving. 

"Know where I can find a masseur at this time of night?" she asked playfully. 

The Green Hornet leaned casually against the wall jamb, "I think I could find someone. Maybe even find somebody who could draw you a nice hot bath too. Looks like you could use one too." 

"Mmm, with mountains of bubble bath?" 

"Of course. Are there any other kind?" 

"Uh, boss," Kato said, "I think it's time we get going." 

Stormy sighed. Sam was standing next to Kato, at a loss as to what to do next. "Maybe next time," she said to the Green Hornet. 

The Green Hornet's eyes traveled slowly up and down Stormy's figure. "Maybe," he said before turning to leave. 

Stormy thoughtfully watched the Green Hornet walk back to the car and climb in. Sam stood next to her watching as well. Finally she said, "Sam, you think you could draw me a picture of the Green Hornet?" 

"Sure, no problem." 

"Without the mask?" 

Sam thought for a few beats, then he nodded, "Probably." 

"Good," Stormy said, then closed her door behind her, leaving a puzzled Sam looking at the parking lot where the Black Beauty had been. 


	9. chapter nine

**Chapter Nine**

The Plot Thickens 

I 

"Sam," Stormy shouted, banging on the door next to hers. He still hadn't opened up and she was getting worried. It was well past nine in the morning and he should have been up by now. If not her banging on the door should have rousted him out of bed like a shot. "C'mon open up," she shouted again. 

Still not getting a response, she finally pulled out her copy of his door key and opened the door. She didn't know what to expect when she burst through the door. Maybe a dead body with blood everywhere, maybe Sam sleeping like a baby. What she did find was Sam sitting on the edge staring catatonically at the screen on his laptop computer. His face seemed to be completely drained of blood. 

"Sam," she said, "Didn't you hear me knocking?" 

Sam looked up at her, blinking as if it was hard for him to come back from wherever he had mentally gone. "Knocking?" he said. "I didn't hear you knocking . . . " 

"I've been knocking for the past ten minutes. I thought you had died or something." 

"I...I'm okay." 

"You don't look okay," Stormy said, pulling up a chair to sit in front of him. "What happened?" 

Sam sighed. "I think I see the end of the world." 

"Oh, c'mon. It can't be that bad." 

He shook his head, "Maybe it's worse . . . " 

"Sam . . . ," she said in an exasperated voice. "You mind telling me what's going on?" 

"It's the end of the world . . . " 

"You already said that. You mind explaining it?" 

After carefully closing the lid of his laptop, Sam nervously caressed it with a shaking hand. "You know I've been concerned about what Archer was up to . . . " 

"I remember," Stormy said, "I also remember you saying that you had downloaded a lot of Archer's files from his computer." 

"Right," Sam said, "I've just finished cracking the last bit of his security encrypting." He paused thoughtfully, then continued, "Julius is a man obsessed with his own impact on history. Because of that, he's nuts about saving every piece of email he gets or sends. He keeps records of everything he does . . . " 

"Not very smart if you're involved in something illegal," Stormy commented. 

"That's the crazy thing about it. I guess Julius figured that once his plans succeed everybody will be eager for information on how it all happened. Kind of like the Lincoln papers." He sighed again, "I'm afraid though it reads more like something Hitler would have come up with." 

"Hitler?" 

"Yeah. Julius is part of a group that is planning nothing less than world domination." 

"You're kidding. That only happens in stories, not real life. Besides who'd want to rule the world? Sounds like it'd be too much trouble to me." 

"That's what I would think. But the way it's detailed in Julius' records, it sounds so plausible. Everything that's been happening the last twenty or more years seems to be part of their handiwork." 

"What kind of stuff?" 

"The destruction of the Challenger, and then the Columbia . . . " 

"Sam . . . " 

"I know, but wait, there's more. According to what I've read, they're also behind the assassinations of Anwar Sadat, Indira Gandhi, the attempt on President Regan, the rise of the Moral Majority, Ayatollah Khomeni, Osama ben Laden, the destruction on 9/11. Anything that served to keep this world in turmoil, anything that kept the world from uniting in peace or making any real kind of social progress, they were behind it." 

"That's unbelievable. Why would anyone do something like that?" 

"Because, according to what I can find in Julius' writings, by creating all this havoc they can move their own people into power and make them appear to be saviors. At the same time they quash any kind of dissent or any possible sources of dissent, including of course, buying up and consolidating all sources of information such as film, radio, tv, the Internet . . . " 

"And newspapers?" Stormy said, not liking where her thoughts were leading. 

"Of course." 

"And if they can't buy it, they destroy it, right?" 

"Right." 

"Such as what is happening with the Daily Sentinel and Britt Reid." 

"Exactly. The Sentinel has the largest market share in this city and is very highly ranked in the entire state, just behind some of the national newspapers such as USA Today." 

"So if they can't buy the Sentinel, they'll destroy it. But why couldn't they just buy somebody else out and build up their own subscription base?" 

"That's their plan B. If Archer can't manage some way of buying the Sentinel, then that's what they'll do. After, of course, destroying the Sentinel. But they'd rather have the Sentinel and its ready-made readership instead." 

"How does the Global Commerce Center figure in all this?" 

"They're planning on making it look like a terrorist attack in conjunction with the city's gangs. I was able to decipher a few communications between Archer and a man by the name of Hakenkrueze. It seems like he's getting all the gangs worked up and then when the time's right, they'll destroy the GCC. There's also a lot of discussion about the Green Hornet." 

"The Green Hornet? Good or bad?" 

"Well, let's put it this way. I wouldn't want to be in the Green Hornet's shoes if this Hakenkrueze ever got his hands on him. Funny thing, there seems to be some discussion about there being two Green Hornets and the involvement of the Reid family with the Green Hornet. The communications are pretty cagey on that part. I think Hakenkrueze is more concerned about leaving a trail than Archer is." 

"Two Green Hornets," Stormy said thoughtfully. "That would figure. The man we saw last night was far too young to be the original Green Hornet. Same thing with his chauffeur. Did you draw that picture I asked you about?" 

Sam nodded then gave her the sketch he had drawn. Stormy was not as startled as she thought she would be when it bore a strong resemblance to John Reid. Deciding not to tell Sam about her suspicions she carefully set it aside, saying only, "Thanks." 

Then returning to the subject about Archer's files, she said, "And all that stuff you found out, is all in this computer?" 

Sam nodded. 

"I think you had better guard that very closely." 

"I will, but I've backed everything up, or at least the original files on my home computer system." 

"What about what you've just deciphered?" 

"Not yet. I'm going to need some burnable cd's before I'll be able to back them up." He smiled wryly. "When I left home last night, I didn't plan on being on the run." 

"I think we had better get some cd's as soon as possible then. I'm going to have to also report in to Frank Scanlon soon. He's probably wondering where I've disappeared to." She frowned thoughtfully. "By the way, what does this mystery group call themselves?" 

"They call themselves the Millennium Project." 

II 

"I'm sorry things didn't pan out," Lee said to Mike Axford as they walked through the Grand Hotel's lobby. 

Axford sighed heavily. " I just keep on forgetting how old I am," he growled unhappily as he thrust his hands more deeply into his pockets. "Things sure as hell aren't like they used to be. I used to be on a first name basis with every hotel Dick in the city. I used to get my best leads from those guys. They knew more dirt about stuff than most cops did. Now they've been all replaced by so-called security services. Security," Axford spat. "They're just a bunch of cop wannabe's or washouts who sit around watching a bunch of TV's. I betcha that guy we were talkin' to never moves from that damn chair all day. He wouldn't know a heist was goin' on unless it was his shorts that was bein' stolen." 

Lee nodded his agreement. "Did you notice that the monitor he was looking at most was the one showing wrestling?" 

Axford barked a quick laugh, his mood starting to lighten. "Yeah, I sure did. At least he's not like one of those Red Knight guys. Buncha tin soldiers the lot of them. I was glad to see the end of that crew. Wouldn't have trusted any one of them with my granny's knittin." 

Lee smiled. "How about I buy you a beer?" 

Axford stopped in his tracks, his brows rising in surprise, "Now you wouldn't be funnin' me, would you boy? You sure you're not too young to buy an old man a drink?" 

"Not only am I old enough to buy a man a drink, I'm also old enough to buy a lady one too." 

Axford laughed. "Now that'll get you in trouble every time." 

The old reporter glanced at the hotel's dark wood and mirrored bar at the edge of the lobby. "Now unless things have really changed since I was young, I doubt Britt's payin' you enough on an intern's wages to afford this place." 

"No problem," Lee answered, "I just got paid." 

"Now I don't want you to go to all that expense. I know a place where we can get the best beer in town, not that overpriced hoity-toity watered down stuff they serve here." 

"Sounds good." 

Hearing a girl's voice call his name, Lee turned to see a girl quickly walking after them, her brown-haired ponytail swinging with every step. 

"Hi Lisa," he said as she approached him. "I thought you left town." 

Dressed in a grey workman's jumpsuit, Lisa smiled at Lee as she answered, "I did for a while, but I got tired of all that good weather in California. I'll take an old fashioned Great Lakes winter blizzard over palm trees and movie stars any day of the week." 

"So you were able to get your job back?" Lee guessed. 

"Yeah, they couldn't wait to hire me back. The guy they had drank like a fish." 

"When did you get back?" Lee asked. 

"About two weeks ago," Lisa replied. Then her face fell. "I heard about what happened to your boss. I'm sorry. I can't believe he would be the kind of person who'd do something like that." 

"He didn't," Axford growled angrily, "I've known him since he was a boy. I know damn well he's not the type who'd attack a helpless girl. It's a damn set up. I'll tell you that." 

Lisa looked at Axford in surprise. 

"Oh," Lee said quickly, "This is Mr. Axford. He's been at the Sentinel for years and years. He's teaching me how to be a reporter." 

"Not doing a good job of it either," Axford groused. "We're trying to get somebody to talk to us about what happened the day they're claimin' Mr. Reid attacked that girl. Nobody's talkin'. They all say we gotta talk to the hotel's public relations department. Fat lot that'll do us. Just bunch of spin doctors spinnin' the truth all into a tight knot." 

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Lisa said, "They have it posted all over the place that employees aren't supposed to talk to anybody without passing it up to management." 

Lee looked around the lobby furtively. "Are you considered an employee?" he asked. 

Lisa smiled and shrugged, "You might say I'm an independent contractor. Besides the last thing I want to see is your Mr. Reid in prison for something he didn't do." 

Axford instantly brightened as in a lowered voice he asked, "Do you know something?" 

"I'm not sure, but there's lots of rumors flying around . . . " 

"Mr. Axford and I are going to get a drink, would you like to come along?" Lee asked. 

"Sure," Lisa answered. 

In a dark, slightly shabby bar, Mike Axford settled back into the booth's seat with a satisfied sigh. "Lee, my boy, there's nothing better than an old-fashioned brew straight from the tap. None of those so-called boutique brews can take a shine from an old Milwaukee beer." He smacked his lips then took another pull from the heavy mug in front of him. He eyed the soda in front of Lisa. "You sure you don't want a beer?" 

"No thanks, I'm fine," Lisa replied, "I prefer my Diet Coke." She smiled, matching Axford's sigh of bliss. "Drink of the gods," she added as she took a sip from her glass. 

Axford shook his head. "I guess it wouldn't look good if you went back to work with alcohol on your breath anyway," he commented philosophically. He shot a look at the glass in front of Lee. "Damned if I know what you see in a light beer. L. I. T. E," he said, spelling out the letters. "If you're going to have a beer you might as well make it a real one," he remarked before taking another long pull from his mug. 

"Okay," he said finally, "Now, Miss Alvarez, what have you been hearing around the hotel?" 

Lisa glanced at Lee, who nodded his encouragement. 

"A few days ago I noticed one of the maids wearing a watch a lot like the one that the police say that the missing girl was wearing. I talked to her and she says that her boyfriend bought it for her . . . " 

"But you don't think so," Mike interrupted. 

"No, I don't. I couldn't get her to trust me, but I'm sure she wasn't telling me the truth. But if you think it would help, I can try talking to her again." 

"I think it could help a lot," Lee said. "That watch was a one of a kind. Either she knows where it really came from, or her boyfriend does." 

"Yeah," Axford agreed, "Set up a meeting time and Lee and I'll be there. If she wants money, we'll meet any price she's asking." 

"She might ask for a lot," Lee said thoughtfully. 

"Don't care," Axford said, "Even if it has to come out of my own pocket, I'll meet any price, she or anyone else, asks. Anything for Mr. Reid." 

"I don't think money is the problem," Lisa said, "Unless it helps her get out of town. She strikes me as a very frightened girl." 

"She has good reason to be afraid," Axford said, "The people who are behind this wouldn't hesitate to make sure that anybody who is a threat permanently disappears. Tell her that we'll give her anything she wants. Money, a plane ticket out of here or a safe place to hole up. Doesn't matter what it is, we gotta talk to her. I feel it in my bones, she's the break we've been looking for." 

"I'll do what I can," Lisa said, "But . . . " she hesitated uncertainly. 

"But what?" Axford asked. 

"I don't think that both you and Lee should come. Like I said, she's very afraid. Too many people might scare her off. Also, she doesn't speak much English. She might be an illegal alien." 

Axford frowned thoughtfully, studying Lisa. "As the senior reporter on this story," he said, "I oughta be the one who talks to the maid, but . . . " he continued, noticing the apologetic look on Lisa's face "I think you're meaning that it should be you and Lee." 

Lisa nodded, as she gently placed her hand on Axford's, "It's nothing against you, but I think she might find Lee less threatening. Not only that," she added, "But almost everybody knows who you are. You're the Daily Sentinel's top reporter. If the wrong people see us together, they might figure out what's going on. On the other hand, nobody knows Lee . . . " 

"Thanks," Lee interjected wryly in jest. 

"You know what I mean," Lisa said, "Besides if people see us together, they'll just think that we're together again." 

At the question in Lisa's voice, Lee mentally cringed. How could he tell Lisa about Hui Ying or vice versa? 

"Sounds good to me," Axford said as he slid out of the booth, and threw a few bills and change onto the table, "It's time for us to head back to the Sentinel. You let us know when the meet has been set up, okay?" 

"Sure," Lisa said. She followed Lee out of the booth, then grasped his arm, "I take it you're seeing somebody." 

"Yeah," Lee admitted reluctantly. "I'm sorry." 

"No problemo," Lisa said a little too flippantly, "I couldn't have expected you not to. Not with me going off to California to seek my fame and fortune." 

"Yeah, but . . . " 

"No buts," Lisa interrupted firmly. "We can still be friends. By the way is she nice?" 

_How do I answer a question like that?_ Lee thought. "Yeah," he said aloud, wondering why it didn't sound right even to him. 

Later that night Lee joined Lisa in the Grand Hotel's employee parking lot. The temperature had dropped severely with the coming with night and Lee was glad that they had decided to wait in her car instead of out in the cold. As they watched the employee entrance, Lisa explained to him, "Her name is Marianna. She'll be getting out in a few minutes. She's agreed to talk with us as long as it's off the record. She doesn't want anyone to know that she's talked to us. It'll just look like I'm giving her a ride home." 

"Does she speak any English?" Lee asked. 

"Not very much. I'll have to translate for you." 

"Did she ask for any money?" 

"No, not yet. She's more worried about keeping things secret." 

"I understand," Lee said, "One person has already been either hurt or killed, we don't want to make it two." 

Lisa nodded her understanding. She and Lee watched the Employee entrance as several women started coming out of the door. 

"That's her," Lisa finally said when she saw a young woman dressed in a red down coat come out the door. Beneath the coat's long hem Lee could see the grey of the girl's maid uniform and white flat soled work shoes. "Stay here," Lisa said as she climbed out of the car. "I'll bring her over here." 

When Lisa returned with Marianna, Lee got out of the front passenger seat and held the door open for her as she slid in. "Buenos dias," he ventured, exhausting his meager Spanish. 

Marianna graced him with a shy smile and said, "Buenos dias, señor." Lee was surprised by how tiny she was close up. Well under five feet, she was slender under the heavy coat. Her dark hair was caught up in a severe tight bun which emphasized her large, long-lashed dark eyes and the smoothness of her dark South American Indian complexion. He also noticed that she kept on nervously fiddling with the band of her watch. The watch that matched the one that was said to belong to Christy Isaacs. 

After he had settled into the back seat and Lisa had started the car, Lee said, "Ask her about the watch." 

Lisa asked the question and said, "She said that her boyfriend gave it to her." 

"Ask her where he got it," Lee said. 

Lisa asked and came back with, "She said she doesn't know." 

Lee could see this wasn't going anywhere. "We both know she's lying. That watch was one of kind. Tell her that." 

For several minutes Lisa and the girl talked, their voices rising until it was clear to Lee that they were arguing. The girl was increasingly becoming agitated until she was sobbing into her hands. 

"What happened?" Lee asked. 

"I told her that we knew better. I told her that we know where the watch came from. I threatened to go to the police and tell them that she and/or her boyfriend were involved in the Isaacs girl's murder. She said she didn't know anything about the murder . . . " 

Speaking tearfully, the girl broke into their conversation. Lisa translated in disbelief, "She says that Christy Isaacs is still alive . . . " 

"What?" Lee interjected. 

"Just a minute," Lisa rapidly spoke to Marianna, then said, translating as Marianna continued to speak, "She said she found her hiding under a bunch of dirty laundry in the maid's closet. The girl was very badly hurt. She was covered with blood and naked." Lisa paused, listening to Marianna. Then she continued, "She was able to get her boyfriend to help her get Christy away from the hotel and to a doctor." 

"Why didn't she call the police? Don't they know that an innocent man has been charged with her murder?" Lee demanded. 

Lisa asked Marianna who was starting to regain her composure. "She says that she was very afraid. She didn't know who had hurt the girl. She couldn't get involved with the police. She's legal, but some of her family members aren't. She didn't want them to get deported back to Guatemala. Christy was barely conscious until just a few days ago. It was only then that they found out that Mr. Reid wasn't the one who had hurt her." 

"So why didn't they do something about it then?" 

"Lee," Lisa said, "You have to understand that among the immigrant community there is very little trust of the police or of the government. Where they come from, the police are usually very corrupt. The last person they ever think of talking to is a police officer. So they don't get involved in police matters unless there is no other choice." 

Marianna said something and Lisa translated, "Christy's still very weak. Marianna says that once Christy was strong enough, they were planning on taking her somewhere safe where she could contact the police without involving them. They figured they had plenty of time, since the trial probably wouldn't start until a long time from now." 

Lee shook his head ruefully, "A lot of things could happen before Christy is fully recovered . . . " He paused thoughtfully, then continued, "Ask her if we could see Christy now. It's very important that we see her as soon as possible." 

Lisa asked Marianna his question, then said, "She said she will find out if we can see Christy and when. The doctor will have to give his permission first." 

"Okay," Lee said, "We'll do anything they ask. Just let her know that I'm afraid that if the people who engineered the frame have their way, Mr. Reid will not live to see a trial." 

III 

Britt knew something was up. He and three other men were being escorted to the common room. The guard ahead of them had disappeared around the corner. The one following them had also managed to disappear from sight. The three inmates with him had slowed their pace until he was slightly ahead of them. He heard a quick intake of breath. 

Britt spun, catching the man's hand with his own, twisting until the crudely made knife fell to the ground. Still holding the man in an iron grip, Britt slammed him into his other attackers. Pushing his fellows out his way, one of the men charged at Britt. Britt sidestepped the sharp blade in his hand, twisting as he moved, chopping at his attacker's neck as he passed by, sending him crashing to the floor. 

The third attacker jumped Britt from behind, grabbing him by the throat. Giving a mighty heave, Britt threw him into the second man as he was getting to his knees. A shiv flew past Britt's ear, close enough for him to feel the whisper of its deadly blade. Britt side-kicked the thrower in the belly, leaving him gasping and cursing in pain. 

A fist seeming to come out of nowhere hit Britt in the jaw. He staggered, falling to one knee. He quickly dodged another blow, but not quite fast enough, catching it on his left shoulder, numbing his arm all the way to his fingers. Britt rolled, catching the man across the ankles with one of his legs. The man fell next to him. One of the crudely made blades was between them, another was in the man's hand. Britt dove for the blade, snatching it up in time to block the downward stroke of the attacker's arm with his left forearm. He kneed the man, then threw himself down on top of him, pinning him to the ground, the blade in his hand pressed against the man's throat. 

"Back off," Britt yelled at the two remaining men behind him. "Back off, or I'll slice him," he growled. 

Unexpectedly Britt saw that the men grinning at him. He turned to see that one of the guards had reappeared. The gun in the guard's hand was pointedly directly at his head as the man's finger tightened on the trigger. 

"Now, I suggest you put that gun down, real nice and easy," Detective Morrisey's voice drawled, his own gun pointed at the guard's back. 

The guard lowered his hand. "I'm glad you're here, Detective." 

"I'll bet you are," Morrisey responded drily. He looked at Britt. "I think you can get off him now," he said. 

Slowly placing the knife on the ground, Britt rose carefully to his feet, then kicked the knife toward the detective. "There's at least one more knife around here, maybe more." 

"Okay. Now I want everyone to put your hands over your head," Morrisey instructed. "Including you," he said with a meaningful gesture of his gun toward the guard. 

"But . . . " the guard began to protest. 

"Especially you," Morrisey answered. 

"But what about Reid?" the guard demanded, noticing that the publisher's arms were still at his sides. 

"He's about the only one I can trust in this bunch. Now march," he said, waving for everyone to head back to the cells. 

"It's lucky you showed up," Britt said to Morrisey as he walked beside the detective. 

"Yeah, it sure it is," Morrisey agreed. "Would you have really cut that guy?" 

Britt shook his head, "No." 

Morrisey cast a questioning look at the publisher. 

"What mattered is whether they thought I would." Britt smiled apologetically, then shrugged. "What they don't know, won't hurt me," he explained. 

"I see . . . " Morrisey said. 

"Why are you here anyway?" Britt asked. 

"I had a few questions I wanted to ask you." he answered as he regarded the men walking in front of them. "I sure would've hated it if they had killed you before I could've gotten them answered." 

"What did you want to ask me about?" 

"Later, after we take care of these bozos." Morrisey considered the men ahead of them. "They must be slipping to send only three guys after you," he observed wryly. "Of course, I guess they thought they were just going after some old guy who runs the local newspaper," he observed. 

"They were," Britt answered. 

"Yeah, right." 

Britt absently rubbed his left arm as he sat at the battered desk in the interview room. Feeling was finally returning, bringing a painful tingling with it. "So Detective, what are those questions you wanted to ask me." 

Morrisey took a quick swig from the Styrofoam cup in front of him, then grimaced. "You sure you don't want a cup of coffee?" he asked. 

"I'd love a cup of coffee. Too bad that's not what that is." 

Morrisey took another swig. "It's a hell of a lot better than the stuff I make at home." 

"Maybe one of these days I'll have over at my place," Britt said companionably, "My wife makes great coffee." 

Morrisey nodded to himself. "That might happen a lot sooner than either of us thinks. It's pretty damn obvious to me that somebody thinks it'd be a lot better if you never leave jail. So that means that whoever set you up, isn't sure their plan is going to stick." 

"So now you're convinced that I didn't kill anyone?" 

Morrisey shrugged. "I've always been sure you didn't kill that girl. I just know though that you aren't telling me the whole damn story." 

Britt shook his head tiredly, "Sorry Morrisey, I can't go into that. I've told you everything I can." 

"Can't you at least give me a hint?" 

Britt considered a few moments, the muscle in his jaw tightening as he thought. He sighed. "All I can say is that it's somebody who has some very powerful connections." 

"Considering some of the enemies, you've made, that could be about anybody from the head dog catcher to the President of the United States." 

Britt nodded. "Whoever set me up has a lot of power, money and more importantly the foresight to start moving everything into place quite a while ago. That sounds like somebody who's very motivated in my opinion." 

"I see. So you think this person thinks he has a lot to gain if you wind up in prison. Or dead." 

Britt nodded. 

"Have you discussed this with anyone?" 

"I don't want to go into that. So far I'm the only target. I want to keep it that way." 

"You sure the rest of your family will go with that?" 

Britt looked at the detective meaningfully. "That's the way I want it," he said harshly. Suddenly he changed the subject. "So what is it you wanted to talk to me about? Does it have anything to do with why I'm in here." 

"Well, I think it does and it doesn't. Have you been hearing about the gang war that's going on around here lately?" Britt nodded that he had. Morrisey continued, "I have a feeling that somebody's behind it. Somebody's setting all the gangs at each other's throats. Is that what you've been hearing?" 

"I haven't been hearing much about it lately. I'm out of touch here in this jail." 

"What about before?" 

"I've heard rumors that somebody's been pitting all the gangs against each other, but I don't know who or why." 

"Your reporter, Ed Lowery, saw the Hornet at the Hog Heaven. He said that the Hornet was looking into it. You hear anything about that?" 

"Nothing except what Lowery reported." 

"Nothing about what the Hornet might have discovered?" Morrisey asked pointedly. "A lot of lives could be saved if we can find out who's behind these gang wars." 

Britt shook his head then sighed. He knew what the detective was hinting at. "You have to remember that it was only a few days afterwards that I was arrested for murder. I have no idea what's been going on since then. Whatever the Green Hornet thought or might have discovered . . . " he paused, shook his head again, "I'm sorry as much as I wish I could, I can't help you." 

"Do you remember Anthony Hakenkrueze?" 

"How could I forget him? I hear that he's not dead like we all thought he was." 

"Rumor is that Hakenkrueze is after the Hornet." 

"That'd figure, Hakenkrueze being the nutcase he is." 

"I hear that Hakenkrueze blames the Hornet for what happened to his arm. Do you think maybe Hakenkrueze could be behind the power struggles among the gangs? He probably still has enough connections to equip anybody who wants to arm their own army. Especially if he thinks that will bring the Green Hornet out of the woodwork." 

"And has it been working? I haven't heard of the Hornet showing up lately." 

"As far as I can tell nobody has seen the Hornet. Not since you've been arrested, coincidentally." 

"For the Hornet's sake, it might be a good idea if he continues to lay low." 

"So, you think the Hornet's afraid of Hakenkrueze? Or maybe that the last go-around he had with Hakenkrueze convinced him that he's too old to take him on again?" Morrisey asked, watching Britt closely. 

Britt hesitated, visibly fighting for an answer that would not show his true feelings. "It takes a wise man to know when he's out of his league." 

"Is that so?" Morrisey challenged. 

Britt's mouth became a grim straight line. "I love my family a great deal. I don't want to have to see any of them suffer because of what I have done, or feel they have to follow in my lead. Whatever I have chosen to do is not a choice I want any member of my family to make. If I were a free man, it would be different story when it comes to Hakenkrueze." 

Morrisey nodded to himself. "I take it you hope the rest of your family stays out of this business with Hakenkrueze." 

"Not only hope, I pray that they do." 

IV 

Keeping his face firmly impassive, Frank Scanlon watched Judge Gayle Harding arrange the papers on her desk. She was a large black woman whose black hair had silvered during the ten years she had served on the bench. A no nonsense woman, she was the type one usually called tough, but fair. She brooked no shenanigans from either defense or prosecuting attorneys. Firmly believing that law breakers should stay in jail until the day of their trial, she had well earned the nickname of "no bail Gayle". 

Scanlon chanced a glance at the D.A. Michael Cheung. Although Britt Reid had often locked horns with the conservative D.A. over the rights of journalists when it came to the free flow of information between the press and the police, Michael Cheung was a popular man with the public. He was slender with black hair shot with just the right amount of dignifying grey. Neither too tall, nor too short, he appeared just oriental enough to appeal to the ethnic vote while his carefully modulated voice with its mid-American accent reassured the city's more conservative voters. Scanlon noted with interest the slight nervous tremor in Cheung's hands as he settled his briefcase next the chair he was sitting in. 

"Now, Mr. Scanlon, I believe we went through all this about a week ago," Judge Harding said firmly. "I have already made my decision about Mr. Reid's bail." 

"I realize that, your honor," Frank said, "but circumstances have changed." 

"How so?" she asked. 

"Last night my client was attacked by fellow prisoners while he was being escorted to the common room. If not for a Detective Morrisey's timely arrival on the scene, my client might have been shot by a guard while he was defending himself." 

Judge Harding's frown deepened, she addressed the D.A., "Why was I not apprized of the situation?" 

Cheung cleared his throat. "I had only gotten word of it this morning, myself," he explained, "We are conducting a thorough investigation into how this could have happened." 

"Your honor," Frank said, "From the account of the attack I have received, it is clear that it was orchestrated with the full cooperation of two guards at the facility. In fact, they are currently under custody. Because of this attack, I am repeating my request that bail be set for my client and that it be of a sum that he will be able to post. Otherwise, I am in doubt that Mr. Reid will live long enough to stand trial. As I have stated previously, Mr. Reid holds high standing in this community, as well as strong family ties and a highly reputable business; all hallmarks of a highly responsible individual who is of very slight flight risk." 

"Judge Harding," Michael Cheung protested, "I believe Mr. Reid is by nature a strong flight risk. He is the type of person who goes his own way regardless of the demands of the legal system. If he feels it is in his own self interest to flee this state, I am in no doubt that he will do so. In fact, my esteemed colleague seems to have forgotten that during his term in office, Mr. Reid did in fact evade police custody through attacking him. What are we to expect of a man who did not hesitate to strike a close personal friend in order to remain free?" 

"That was many years ago," Frank argued, "I also want to point out that while he was free, Mr. Reid was able to secure proof of his innocence and that in fact he was the victim of a vicious frame perpetrated by a colleague of his." 

"Are you repeating your claim that Mr. Reid is again the victim of a frame?" Judge Harding inquired with a firm warning in her voice. 

"I know we have already discussed the likelihood of that and I will not use up the Judge's valuable time in going over it again," Frank replied. "Whether or not Mr. Reid is innocent can only be determined by a jury of his peers as is his constitutional right. Someone apparently wants to deny him that right. My sole intent in this meeting is to make sure that he lives long enough to be tried." 

"I disagree," Michael Cheung said, "I see no logical reason why Mr. Reid would be any safer on the streets than in jail. I believe he needs to remain in police custody, otherwise he could be a hindrance to the murder investigation and perhaps even a danger to himself and others." 

"Your honor," Frank said, "It has been proven that Mr. Reid's life is definitely in danger. The attack occurred with the full cooperation of two guards. There is no surety that such an attack will not occur again, perhaps even successfully." 

"Your honor . . . " Cheung began. 

Judge Harding held up her hand, stopping him in mid-sentence. "I've heard all these arguments before . . . " 

Frank started to say something, but she said very firmly, "Let me finish, Mr. Scanlon. I agree that Mr. Reid should not be let out on bail. While he might be of slight flight risk, Mr. Reid could possibly interfere with the investigation, perhaps for the better, but I fear it could be for the worse." 

"But," she continued, "I am also highly concerned about his safety. It is a black mark against our justice system when an attempt can be made on the life of a prisoner while he is in custody. Such an occurrence is completely unacceptable. 

"Mr. Cheung, you will take steps to secure Mr. Reid in a safe house in which he can stay until the date of his trial. You will also make such security arrangements as needed to make sure that he will indeed be safe there. A second attempt will not be acceptable and would be considered by myself as an intentional failure on your part and grounds for contempt charges, if not worse." 

"Your honor . . . ," Cheung protested. 

Judge Harding ignored him, turning to Frank, "Mr. Scanlon with your unique familiarity with this city's police force, I expect you to work closely with Mr. Cheung to choose those officers you believe can be trusted to guard your client." 

"Is that acceptable, Mr. Cheung?" she directed to the D.A., her voice implying that she would accept no other reply other than the affirmative. 

"It is, your honor," he replied. 

"Mr. Scanlon?" she asked. 

"It is acceptable," Frank replied, "I will make arrangements for a meeting with Mr. Cheung so that we can choose the necessary personnel." 

"Very good," Judge Harding said, "You are now dismissed. Have a good day, gentlemen." 

Frank felt relieved at the way the meeting had turned out. While he could not get Britt out, at least he would wind up in a safer place. Britt wouldn't be happy with that, but it bought them some more time. Perhaps enough to find out whether or not the Isaacs girl was really alive and whether she might be able to tell them what had really happened that night. 

Michael Cheung passed him as they stepped out of the Judge's chambers. "Michael, I want to set up an appointment with you so we can go over the men to protect Mr. Reid." 

With a strange look of fear and preoccupation, Cheung waved him off, "Later, Frank, I have a few things I have to take care of right now. Call my office later today, and set up whatever time's convenient for you with my secretary." He tried to force a smile, "She has a better idea of my schedule than I do. I just show up when and where she wants me." 

"Is everything okay?" Frank asked. 

"Yeah, sure," Cheung said quickly, "Just family problems, you know how kid's are." Cheung eyes widened as if he suddenly realized he said the wrong thing. 

"Sure," Frank said doubtfully, wondering if Cheung remembered that he and his wife were childless. 

"See you later, Frank," Cheung quickly said, turning away before Frank could ask him anything else. 

V 

The actors suddenly stopped cold as Lee walked down the aisle toward the stage. Hui Ying jumped gracefully down from the stage to greet him, "Darling, long time no see. What's up? I've missed you the last few days. I left several messages on your machine but you never called me back." 

Lee sighed. _This is going to be difficult_, he thought. "I'm sorry, Hui Ying, what with Mr. Reid in jail, I've been helping his family out with stuff." 

"But what about the play? We need you. Tommy's taken off somewhere, so with you as a no show, we've been two people short." 

"Tommy's disappeared?" Lee asked. 

Hui Ying shrugged carelessly, dismissing Lee's concern for the young man, "Yeah, but he's probably just off sulking somewhere until he figures he's been gone long enough for us to miss him. Then he'll show up and expect us to fawn all over him." 

"Uh, Hui Ying," Lee said unhappily, "I'm going to have to bow out. I can't be in your play." 

"But Lee," Hui Ying protested, "We need you. I need you. What about us? Does that mean that it's over between us?" 

"No," Lee answered. "I really care for you. I'd like to still go out with you, but I can't be in this play. There's too much going on right now. Maybe later when things settle down." 

"But Lee, this play is important . . . " 

"Hui Ying, I can't . . . " 

"Don't you have any idea what this means to me? To the people of China?" She pressed, her voice starting to rise. 

"It's only a play . . . " 

"Only a play? Lee, this is the most important thing I have ever done. It's critical that you be in this play when it goes to China." 

"I'm not going anywhere. Not until Mr. Reid is out of jail and cleared of that murder charge." 

Hui Ying shook her head in frustration. She pulled Lee toward the back of the theater where no one else to hear them. In a low voice, barely above a whisper, she said, "You have to come with me to China . . . " 

"I can't . . . " 

"You must . . . " 

"No. This is a matter of life and death. I'm not going to desert Mr. Reid and his family when they need me the most." 

"This too is a matter of life and death. For the people of China . . . " 

"Good God. This is only a play . . . " 

"This is beyond the play. The play is only a ruse." 

"A what?" 

"A ruse. It's a ruse to get you into China." 

"But why?" 

"Lee, I didn't want to tell you this way. I was hoping for a better time . . . " 

"To tell me what?" 

"That you are the direct descendent of the last emperor of China." 

"You have got to be kidding . . . " 

"No, I'm not. We've studied this thoroughly. Everyone believes that the dethroned emperor died without issue. But he didn't. In the early forties, while the emperor was the chief executive of the Japanese puppet state, Manchukuo, he fell in love with a serving girl. When they found out she was pregnant, they knew she had to flee otherwise she would suffer the fate of one of his wives who had died mysteriously while in the care of Japanese doctors. 

"Knowing that the child's existence would be not welcomed by the Japanese, or later the Soviets and the fledgling communist Chinese government, the girl left him with a Quaker missionary family. They in turn, put him in the care of a Shaolin monastery when they had to leave China. In time the child known as Shao Lung, little dragon, left China with Britt Reid when the monastery was destroyed . . . " 

Lee nodded, "Mr. Reid told me the story how he and my father met in China. He never said anything about my father being related to the emperor of China. My father never said anything about it either." 

"I don't know if your father ever knew the truth of his birth," Hui Ying replied, "I am sure Britt Reid never knew. The truth if it was known would have been your father's death warrant. The communists could not afford the existence of someone around whom the traditionalists could form a challenge." 

"So," Lee said, "That's why you want me to go to China with you. You want me to claim the royal throne." 

"Yes," Hui Ying replied fervently, "Exactly. It's your birthright. Imagine being the Emperor of China." 

"A puppet emperor you mean." 

"No!" Hui Ying replied, "It's not that at all. You would be the constitutional head of an elected democratic government. Just like they have in England." 

"The queen of England is only a figurehead . . . " 

"Well, kind of. But you would inspire the people of China to overthrow the communists. People would rally around you as the true heir to the Peacock throne." 

"So you figure people would be willing to kill and be killed because I'm the grandson of the last Chinese emperor." 

"I wouldn't quite put it that way. Look, Lee, you would be inspiring people to fight for their freedom . . . " 

"Do you have any idea how many people would die in a Civil war in a country China's size? Can you even imagine the amount of bloodshed?" Lee demanded. 

"It's the cost of freedom . . . " 

"Freedom? At what cost?" Lee asked, horrified, "Do you really think I want the blood of thousands, maybe even millions on my hands? Do you really want to be responsible for that kind of destruction?" 

"Sometimes people have to die for a cause. That's the way life is." 

"I'm sorry, Hui Ying, I can't be a part of your plan." 

"Surely you're not going to turn your back on the Chinese people who need you to lead them out of slavery." 

"No, I'm not turning my back on them," Lee said sadly, "I'm turning my back on you." 

"You can't!" she protested. 

"I can and I will," Lee said, turning away from her. He headed for the back door. 

"It's those Reid's. Isn't it? They're not even your people. How can you even think of being loyal to them?" 

"I can because I know that they would never be so callous as you are about the death of so many people. They would never demand that so many people die for a cause of theirs. They might be willing to die for what they believe in, but never would they expect somebody to die for them." 

"But Lee . . . " Hui Ying protested, grabbing Lee's arm. 

Lee gently pulled her hand from his arm, "It's finished." 

"No! It's not finished," Hui Ying said to his back, "It will only be finished with your death. The communists know of your existence. They cannot allow you to live." 

Without turning toward her, Lee said very softly, "If that is my fate, so be it." Then he closed the door behind him. 

Outside the sun was just starting to set. Dusk was happening later each day. He wondered for a moment how many more he might see. The ringing of his cell phone broke his glum reverie. "Yeah," he said answering. 

"Good news, Lee. Mariana said that we can see Christy Isaacs tonight," Lisa said. 

"Great. I'll meet you at your place," he said. At least they were making progress somewhere. He replaced his cell after setting up the time with Lisa. China was a long way away. It would have to wait for another day. 

Sitting comfortably in his favorite armchair before the fireplace, George Cheung knew even without turning that someone had entered his study. If someone had asked him later, he could not have said why. It surely was not the sound of footsteps or the opening of a window for he heard nothing. Perhaps it was merely the change of the air around him, a chilling shiver that went down his back. Firmly he reined in his imagination. As calmly as greeting a next door neighbor, he said without turning around, "You have arrived." 

"Yes, honored grandfather, I have," said a voice that was female, but lacking feminine softness. The words were Chinese, formal in accent and structure. "I have come as I was ordered. There is word that a pretender to the Peacock throne exists." 

"That was the original assignment," Cheung replied. He still kept his back to the intruder. It would do no good to see her anyway. She was one of the faceless ones who appear and disappear as needed. She had no existence, no name outside of the mission she was assigned to. 

"The assignment has changed," a statement, not a query. Her type did as they were told. If things changed, they changed. It was her duty to adapt to whatever winds might blow. 

"Yes. My foolish grandson has disappeared. My even more foolish son denies it, but I know the truth of it. My son is involved in business he should not be in. You will locate my grandson, deliver him to me safely, and eliminate the ones responsible." 

"There will be a change in the charges for my services," she replied. 

"That will be taken care of." 

"Good. You have a dossier on the ones involved." 

"Yes. On the table near the door." 

He heard no movement, not even the folder being lifted from the desk, but Cheung knew that the intruder had left. 

He tried to restrain his sigh of relief. He did not care to deal those such as the intruder. They were expensive, but then when it came to family there was no price too dear. 

VI 

Lisa and Lee met Dr. Baca in a small office in the back of a patient-filled clinic. He tiredly waved them to a pair of elderly folding chairs while he collapsed heavily into a cracked vinyl office chair behind a war surplus metal desk. He might have been a handsome man once, but now his dark eyes were dulled with exhaustion from too little sleep and too much worry. 

"Señor, Señorita," he began, "Forgive me for making you wait so long. As you see I have many patients and there is only one of me. I spend my days at the local hospital helping those who can pay. At night, I work here to help those who cannot." 

"I'm sorry, Doctor," Lee replied, "We didn't mean to take you away from your work." 

Dr. Baca waved a self-deprecating hand, "Never mind me. I fear I suffer from too much idealism. When I first left medical school many years ago in Mexico City, I was ready to cure the world of all its ills. Now, alas, I only hope that I can cure one small child." 

"But," he continued, "You are not here to listen to my woes. You have those of your own. This is about the girl that was brought to me about a week or so ago. Is that not right?" 

"Yes," Lee answered. "Is she all right? Can we talk to her?" 

"She was badly hurt," Dr. Baca began cautiously, then noticed Lee's suddenly crestfallen expression, "However she is alive and is healing well." 

"Good . . . " Lee began eagerly. 

"I should continue," Dr. Baca said, "While she is recovering very nicely physically. I don't know if I can say the same about her mentally. What she went through was very traumatic. Somebody tried to kill her and very nearly succeeded. It is a miracle that she is alive. She is a very frightened girl." 

"Do you think she's up to talking to us?" Lisa asked gently as she placed a comforting hand over Lee's. 

The doctor noticed her caring gesture with a slight nod. "I realize this is very important to you," he said, addressing Lee. "I do not want to expose this poor child to any more trauma than necessary. However," he said, raising a hand when Lee started to protest, "I realize that the life of an innocent man hangs in the balance. It would do this girl no good if I allowed the guilty parties go unpunished because I had forbidden you to talk to her. Especially," he said with a wry smile and a small shrug, "Since she was the one who insisted upon seeing you. Despite her fear, she is a very brave young lady, and, if I may say so, a very angry one as well." 

Dr. Baca escorted Lisa and Lee up a narrow flight of stairs to a small apartment above the clinic. The apartment's single room consisted of a simple kitchen alcove with a sink, stove, refrigerator and a wooden table with four chairs. Through an open door near the kitchen, a tiny bathroom the size of a hall closet holding a toilet and a shower could be seen. 

The girl sitting in the old fashioned wooden bed smiled up at them as they entered the apartment. Her back was supported by a large pile of assorted sized pillows and a tube in her left arm led up to a tall IV stand holding a fluid-filled bag. She was very pale with dark circles under eyes. But her eyes were brightly alert and her pale pink tinted blonde hair was neatly brushed into a long pony tail that reached almost to her waist. The neatly pressed hospital gown she was wearing hid most of the evidence of her horrifying experience except for the bandages that mummy-like covered her arms and neck. 

With a wide smile of greeting she clicked the TV in front of her off. "Just a minute. Can't hear a thing, if I got the boob tube on." 

"How are you feeling?" Lee asked. 

"Okay, considering," Christy answered. Behind her cheery facade, Lee sensed that she was barely holding on emotionally. 

"My name is Lee and this is my friend, Lisa Alvarado. We're here to ask you a few questions about the night you were attacked." 

"I know," Christy said, "I'm sorry about that guy, Mr. Reid. He seemed to be a really nice guy. I didn't mean to get him into trouble." 

"I realize you didn't," Lee said, settling down into one of the chairs that Dr. Baca had brought next to the bed. Lisa slipped into the other chair next to Christy. Dr. Baca remained standing, watching them with a concerned look on his face. "Would you mind telling us what happened?" Lee asked. 

"Not at all," Christy answered. "Anything that'll get back at my boyfriend. The creep," she added with disgust. 

"What happened?" Lee asked. He pulled out a small tape recorder and placed it in front of her on the bed. "Do you mind if I record this?" 

"No," Christy replied. She took a deep breath and then released it as a slight shiver traveled from her shoulders to her hands. She clutched her hands together to stop them from shaking. "I'm an actress. Well," she admitted reluctantly, "I'm trying to be an actress, anyways. My boyfriend, Jake Gordon, like I said, he's a real creep. He gets too rough at times. Especially when he's drunk, or high. Or both. He's real sweet when he isn't. He's an artist, you know. He made my watch. He's real good." Lisa paused, rubbing her hand where her watch used to be. "I gave it to Marianna. She saved my life you know." Christy again paused, then with a short laugh, "I don't know what's got into me. Sorry, I'm kinda babbling here." 

"That's all right," Lisa said, "Take your time." 

"Sure. You know, I've been wanting to talk about what happened this whole time, but now, I dunno, I'm kind of scared." She again took a shuddering breath, then continued. "Jake came to me and said that somebody wanted me to do a movie for them. I was real excited. I thought this was going to be my first break. I almost backed out when he told me that it was going to be a porno movie, but he said that it was going to be very artistic and that the sex was real important to the plot. 'Sides the money was going to be real good. We were coming up short this month, so it was going to come in handy. 

"All I had to do they said was meet with this guy in a hotel room, have sex with him and that would be end of that. They said it was gonna be kind of like Blair Witch Project or something. You know, with hand-held cameras and real-looking even if it wasn't. Instead of a real script and rehearsing it was supposed to be kind of Improv. I was given a basic idea and some props, like that portfolio and was told to just go with whatever lines I was fed. Just do or say whatever seemed to fit the situation." 

"Did you ever meet these people?" Lee asked. 

"No," Christy answered. "Jake handled all of it. I kind of wonder now if he knew more than he let on." 

"Probably," Lee commented cynically. 

Christy nodded, "I guess you're right. Anyway," she said, "I go to the hotel like they told me and I met Mr. Reid there. I didn't know who he really was. They, uh, Jake, said that he was just some actor. I was kind of surprised he didn't seem to know what was going on, but I just figured he was into this whole thing of playing it by ear. I was kind of admiring how great an actor he was. I didn't realize then that he wasn't acting. So anyway I go through my whole act, and we drink some soda" 

"Where did you get the soda? Did you buy it at a store?" 

"No, it was already in the room. I told him that it was my room even though I hadn't ever been there before." 

"So everything was set up before you entered the room?" Lee asked. 

Christy nodded. "Anyway, I went through the whole act like I was told, and he seemed to getting a little groggy, and I dunno, kind of acting weird, almost like he was high or turned on or I dunno," she shrugged, at a loss for words. "I was supposed to act real upset, crying and stuff, and he hugged me, and then we were kissing and then, uh" She looked at Lee with an embarrassed look on her face. "I heard he's married" 

Lee nodded. "He is." 

"Is she nice?" 

"Yes, very." 

"I'm so sorry. I hope I didn't wreck things between them. I didn't mean to. I don't think he really knew what he was doing. I think things just got out of hand," She paused, avoiding looking at Lee, she studied her hands as she wadded a corner of her sheet into a knot. "We had sex," she said very softly. She looked at Lee, a pleading look in her troubled eyes. "I'm not proud of what I did," she said, "I . . . I thought it was all an act. I...I was a fool . . . " 

"That's all right," Lisa said, placing a gentle hand on Christy's shoulder, "We understand." 

She glanced at Lee, who nodded his agreement. "Mrs. Reid isn't blaming you or Mr. Reid," he said, "She knows that he wouldn't have done anything like that unless the circumstances were very unusual. We're thinking he was probably drugged. Maybe the soda he had. Did you drink any of it?" he asked. 

"No. I couldn't drink anything. I was too nervous." 

"What happened next?" Lee asked. 

Christy took another deep shuddering breath, marshalling her courage. "We were, uh . . . , in the middle of . . . things, when this woman came in . . . " 

"What did she look like?" Lee asked as he pushed the recorder slightly closer. 

"She had red hair, a little taller than me and she was kind of plump. Well, not exactly plump, but you know, she had, I guess what you might call one of those hour glass figures. You know, big boobs, a tiny waist, big hips . . . " 

"I know what you mean," Lee answered, thinking it was funny coming from Christy who had the exact opposite type of figure. 

"Do you have any idea who she might be?" Christy asked, noticing that Lee seemed to know who she was talking about. 

"I have very good idea," Lee replied. "She's someone we'd be very glad to put behind bars." 

"So would I," Christy said, bitterness coloring her reply. 

"What did she do?" Lee prompted. 

"She was screaming and waving this big butcher knife around." Anticipating Lee's unspoken question, she said, "I don't know what she was saying. All I noticed was that big knife in her hand. She was waving it all around. I didn't know what to do. I jumped out of the bed. All I could think of was to get my clothes on. She came at me with the knife. I tried to dodge. Mr. Reid got between us and stopped her, but he was real out of it. She pushed him away and he fell. He kept on trying to stop her, but he couldn't. 

"I was tripping in the sheets and falling over the chairs. I dunno all that happened. It was like everything was going fast forward. She got me a few times with the knife. It hurt so bad. I was bleeding. I didn't know how bad. All I could think of was to get out of there. It was like she was crazy or something. And Jake, he was there. He was filming the whole thing. I was so scared. And I was mad him too. I thought he'd do something to help me, but he didn't. It was like he didn't know it was for real." Tears started rolling down her face. "I loved him. I thought he loved me. We were going to get married some day." She buried her face in her hands. "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him," she sobbed angrily. 

Lisa held Christy in her arms, shushing away her tears, crooning, "It's all right, baby, it's all right." 

"Perhaps . . . ," Dr. Baca ventured. 

"No," Christy said, angrily wiping the tears away with the back of her hand, "I'm okay. If I don't talk about it, I'll never be able to sleep again. I got to tell somebody. I want to get that creep Jake and effing woman," she said, grim determination replacing the tears. 

"We will," Lee said, his determination matching hers. "I promise you, we will." 

"Good," Christy said harshly. 

"Do you remember how you got away?" Lee asked. 

"I don't know. I remember running down the hallway with nothing but a sheet around me. And then I saw a door that was slightly open. I think it was a laundry room. Marianna found me and she hid me under a bunch of dirty linen until she could get me out of the building." 

"Why didn't she take you to the hospital?" Lee asked. 

"I told her not to," Christy admitted, "I didn't know what was going on. I just wanted to get away. I was so confused and afraid. I guess I should've," she admitted sheepishly. 

"Don't worry about it," Lee said understandingly. He thought for a few moments. "You mentioned something about Jake videotaping everything?" 

Christy nodded. 

"Do you have any idea what he might have done with the tape?" 

"Maybe," she said. "I figure that woman might want him to give it to her . . . " 

"Sounds about right," Lee said. 

"But knowing Jake, he'd have made a copy of it before handing it over to her." 

"Got an idea where he'd put the copy?" 

"Sure, Jake's a real packrat. He never throws anything away. He's got this big old totem pole looking thing in his studio. It's not real. I think it was something he made when he was into carving wood. It's practically completely hollow inside. He used to joke that it was biggest box he'd ever made. That's where he squirrels away all of his important stuff." 

"Would anybody guess about it?" 

"Nope. The door is hidden real good. Jake did that on purpose." Christy chanced a smile, "Think what I told you will help?" 

"Yeah," Lee said, getting to his feet. "I think we got enough to free Mr. Reid and get the real people behind this in prison for a very long time." 

"Good," Christy replied with a feral gleam in her eyes.   
  



	10. chapter ten

**Chapter Ten**

**A Night of Terror**

I 

Lee watched the Black Beauty as she rose out of her hidden berth in the garage. Her appearance always made his heart beat a little faster. He turned to thoughtfully regard John who had donned the Green Hornet mask and was watching the Black Beauty just like he was. "You know, Mr. Reid is going to ream us new butt holes when he finds out we've been out with the Black Beauty." 

"If it clears Dad's reputation, it'll be well worth it," John answered. "I know Mom and Frank Scanlon wanted us to go along with Dad's orders," he said reasonably, "but I couldn't just sit on my hands and do nothing. Besides, look, what would have happened if I hadn't decided that it would be a good idea for us to stake out the party at the Lakeview Country Club. Sam Sprite and Stormy would be dead now." 

"Stormy?" Lee commented, "So you're on a first name basis with her, are you?" 

John shrugged, then added with a crooked smile, "Maybe." 

Lee donned his mask, but before heading to the Black Beauty, said thoughtfully, "We don't have to go out tonight. We could tip off the police about Jake Gordon and the video tape." 

"No," John answered. 

"Why?" 

"Because I don't trust them, that's why. Not after the attack on Dad at the jail. Somebody on the inside is helping Archer and the De la Culebra. The only way that tape is going to be safe is if we have it in our hands." 

Lee nodded his agreement, then slid behind the Black Beauty's steering wheel. He looked into the rear view mirror to see that John had settled into the back seat. They went through the ritual of checking the Hornet weapons and the scanner. Lee found it oddly comforting, as if he could feel his father's spirit in the car beside him. 

"Let's roll, Kato," the Green Hornet said. 

Kato smiled, pressed a button on the Black Beauty's dashboard. The garage's rear wall rose and the Black Beauty moved out with a soft, deep purr of its massive engine. 

"I wonder if the leak at police headquarters could have something to do with Tommy Cheung's disappearance," Kato said as he drove the Black Beauty through the darkened city streets toward Jake Gordon's apartment. 

"He's the D.A.'s son, isn't he?" the Green Hornet asked. 

"Yeah." 

"I bet you're right." 

"I don't know why," Kato said uneasily, "But I have a feeling that things are starting to come to a head." 

"I agree," The Green Hornet grimaced thoughtfully as he watched the city pass by them. "I wish . . . ," the Green Hornet started. "Dammit," he swore, "We can't be every where at the same time . . . " he added in frustration. 

"No matter how much we wish we could," Kato remarked in agreement. "But don't worry, I'm sure Ms Weathers has Sam Sprite well hidden. She didn't even tell Mr. Scanlon, or us, where she has him holed up after they left the motel. So he's safe while she's keeping an eye on Christy. And," he continued, "Mr. Reid is going to be okay in that safe house." 

"Whose location is known only to a select few," the Green Hornet interjected, "Including the D.A." 

"Mr. Scanlon personally hand-picked the men who are guarding him. Even if you don't trust Mr. Cheung, we should be able to trust the men Mr. Scanlon helped choose." 

"We should, but . . . " The Green Hornet shook his head, "I still don't like it." 

"We can't hang around there all the time . . . " 

"I know," the Green Hornet said distastefully. "After we check out this Jake Gordon guy, we'll head out to the safe house just to make sure that everything is okay." 

"Sounds good to me." 

The Black Beauty pulled up in front the apartment building. It was a small two story place having only about twenty two-bedroom units. Jake Gordon's place was located on the top floor near the center. The hour was late and most of the windows of the apartments were dark, including Jake Gordon's. 

After parking the Black Beauty out of sight, the Green Hornet and Kato noiselessly moved up the exterior stairs to Gordon's apartment. It took only a few quick moments with the cheap lock and they were inside. 

Kato fingered the safety chain on the back of the door that had been left undone. "Careless," he said quietly. 

Frowning, the Green Hornet nodded his agreement. "I hope that's all there is to it," he whispered back. 

The Green Hornet and Kato swept their mini-flashes across the room. Chinese and pizza take out boxes covered the couch, chairs and coffee table that faced a large screen TV set in an entertainment center filled with expensive electronic equipment. Several bottles of beer and cheap wine littered the floor, making it necessary for them to walk carefully. 

"I like his sense of style," Kato commented wryly. 

"There," he said, pointing to a tall Totem pole that stood as a silent sentinel in the far corner of the room. It was well made, unpainted to show the dark sheen and handsome grain of its wood. A black raven of ebony wood silently regarded them with mother of pearl eyes. 

"Let's check it out before we talk to Gordon," the Green Hornet said leading the way. 

"Wait a minute," Kato said, his sharp eyes spotting a stray shadow that appeared and disappeared as his flash swept near the Totem pole. 

The Green Hornet carefully eased next to him, the light of his flash joining Kato's. "A trip wire," he said, "Nylon, hair thin." 

"A trap?" Kato said. 

"Probably." 

"This doesn't look good," Kato said uneasily. 

"It sure doesn't," the Green Hornet agreed. "Let's check out the rest of the place." 

With the Green Hornet leading the way, the two men passed the narrow galley kitchen and small dining area and headed for the two bedrooms in the back. The first room was filled with computer equipment and a workbench with a high stool in front of it. On the pegboard over the bench were several pliers, hammers of assorted sizes and wrenches. Next to the desk was a tall cabinet. Unlike the rest of the apartment, it was scrupulously neat. 

"Must be where he makes his jewelry," the Green Hornet commented before heading for the closed door across the hallway. 

The Green Hornet suspiciously swept his flash along the sides, top and bottom of the door looking for signs of another trip wire. Finding none, he slid into the room. Kato took a few moments to check behind them before following the Hornet into the room. 

The bedroom looked like it had been hit by a major hurricane. Not a single piece of furniture remained intact. The bed looked like it had imploded while shattered shards of glass glittered everywhere. Sheets looked like they had been run through a paper shredder while pillow feathers drifted lazily in the stray breezes of the Green Hornet's and Kato's footsteps. Dark stains turned rusty red as their flashes slid over the destruction. 

"I found Gordon," Kato said lifting a piece of the shattered mattress away with his foot. "Or at least a part of him," he added distastefully. "Might be an arm." 

"I found the rest of him," the Green Hornet said from the opposite side of the room. "We're too late," he said, "Somebody got to him before we did." 

"How long ago do you think it was?" Kato asked as he walked over to the Green Hornet. 

"I have no idea," the Green Hornet said. "It looks like rigor mortis hasn't set in yet, so it must have been in the last few hours." 

Kato considered the body at their feet. "Somebody must have had a real mad on to do something like this." 

The Green Hornet nodded. "I agree. Looks like whoever did this pulled the poor bastard's arms right out of their sockets." 

"I hope he was dead by then," Kato commented. 

"Me too," the Green Hornet said as he crouched down to look more closely at Jake Gordon's body. 

"Got a guess who might have done it?" Kato asked, crouching down beside him. 

"No, but this kind of destruction would have required a lot of strength." the Green Hornet said thoughtfully. 

"Hakenkrueze?" Kato ventured. 

The Green Hornet nodded grimly. 

From a rooftop across from Gordon's place, Hakenkrueze smiled wolfishly as he looked up from his binoculars. The trap had been sprung. He thrust his bloodstained mechanical arm down in a triumphant thrust. A rocket sped out of the darkness, splintering it in a fireball of yellow and white as it exploded into Jack Gordon's apartment. 

_The hell with Archer and the woman's desires_, he thought as he watched the flames consume the upper half of the building. He would have rather killed the Green Hornet in hand to hand combat, but if the De la Culebra woman was right, he at least had the satisfaction of the knowing that the real Green Hornet was still alive out there somewhere. His grin widened. _This might be final straw that will draw the Hornet out into the open, _he thought. 

_If not_ . . . Hakenkrueze mentally shrugged, _then Archer and the woman would have to find someone else to blame the destruction of the Global Commerce Center on. _Like she had said, anyone could wear the green mask, or anyone wearing the mask could be called the Green Hornet. If the person wearing the mask was dead who was to say differently. 

II 

Everything was quiet outside of the clinic. It was nearly closing time, with the last few stragglers being taken care of before the doors could be locked. The bag lady had settled her shopping cart across from the medical clinic with the coming of night. Leaning against a building in a bundle of rags that might have once been clothes, no one bothered her as she slept. Even the human predators bypassed her knowing that she didn't have anything worth stealing. 

Safe under the matted grey wig, Stormy tiredly rubbed her eyes as she watched the clinic where the Isaacs girl was hidden._ A stakeout was always the worst part of being a detective_, Stormy thought, _or at least_, she mentally amended, _the most boring_. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on one's viewpoint, detective work rarely required gun play. Most of the time it consisted of sitting and watching, or burying oneself in the library doing research. 

_Still_, Stormy thought as she surreptitiously pulled out her gun, _it was a good idea to be prepared_. This job was promising to become violent. She couldn't always rely on a masked man to come to her rescue. 

She suddenly straightened. A car with three men had just pulled up in front of the clinic. The music coming from the car was so loud that she could feel the wall behind her vibrate in sympathy to the deep bass. Two of the men stepped out while the third remained at the wheel. They were young, dressed in black wide pants that hung so low on their hips that the crotches of their pants reached almost to their knees. Tight sleeveless undershirts showed well-muscled, heavily tattooed arms. Not unusual for young men in this area, but the furtive looks they were casting about as they walked to the clinic promised that they were up to no good. 

Stormy waited until they had entered before she rose and sidled over to the car. She rapped on the driver's side door. "You mind putting your music down sonny? There's people around who'd like to get some rest, you know," she whined in an old woman's voice. 

"Go away, don't bother me," the young man growled. 

"You young people are all the same," she complained, "You don't have no respect for your elders." 

"Get outta here before I do somethin' . . . " the man threatened. 

"Got no respect," Stormy said, shaking her head as she seemed to fumbling around in her skirts, "Ain't got no respect." 

Suddenly the driver found Stormy's gun pointing up his nose. "Of course," she said in her normal voice, "There's still some things you punks still respect." 

"Look," the driver said, studying the gun between his crossed eyes, "You don't know what you're messing with. Turn around, forget what you see and there'll be a fat bonus in your next paycheck." 

"Now, you're trying to bribe me, aren't you?" Stormy said with a nasty smile, "Forget it, buster, I'm not on your boss' payroll, although I'm sure I know somebody who would be really interested in who he is and who is on his payroll." 

The driver growled as he angrily gritted his teeth, but did not reply. 

"Put your hands out," Stormy ordered, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. 

He suddenly lunged for something next to him, but Stormy quickly rapped him with the butt of her gun, rendering him unconscious. 

"Tsk, tsk," Stormy said pulling a large automatic from his limp hand, "Didn't Mommy ever tell you not to play with guns?" 

After tying up the driver and dumping him into the car's back seat, Stormy headed for the clinic's back door. It was normally locked, but she had been given the key. She glanced into the clinic's waiting room and found that it was empty. Drawn by the sound of thumping she glanced behind the counter to see the nurse trussed up like a Christmas turkey. 

"Are you okay?" Stormy asked, pulling the gag out of the heavy set woman's mouth. 

"Yeah," she said angrily, "Damn idiots shoved their guns right in my face. Couldn't do a damn thing about it." 

"Is there anyone else?" Stormy asked as she hurriedly untied the woman's hands 

"No, the doctor's already gone. He looked beat so I told him to go home and that'd I'd lock up after I finished the paperwork. They're after the girl, aren't they?" she asked. 

"Yes," Stormy replied as she helped the nurse to her feet. "Call the police, while I go after those two." 

"I'm going to have to call from a pay phone outside," the nurse said, "They pulled the phone clean out of the wall in here." 

"Figures," Stormy said. "Do it." 

"Maybe you had better wait until help comes," the nurse suggested. 

Stormy shook her head, "Can't," she said as she followed the woman to the front door. "There's no time." 

Stormy moved silently up the stairs to the small apartment where Christy was being kept. Hearing rough male voices mingling with a girl's higher pitched one, she hurried her pace. Then she stopped just before the opened doorway. Inside, Christy was arguing with the young men. 

"Can't you at least turn around while I put my clothes on?" she protested. 

"Just get them on," one of the punks said. "And hurry up, will ya? We don't have the time for you to be messin' around here." 

"But . . . " she protested. 

"Just do it," the man ordered with a leer. He glanced over to his partner and winked. 

Christy huffed a dramatic sigh, then pulled her jeans on under the hospital gown. Her bra disappeared under the gown as did her arms with a lot of wiggling and maneuvering. Next a button down shirt disappeared under the gown and a lot more wiggling ensued. Finally she dropped the gown to floor appearing fully dressed except for her feet. She walked over to her sneakers next to a chair and began to put them on. 

"Can't you at least tell me where we're going?" she asked. 

"No," was the peevish reply. The young men were starting to get impatient "Get your damn shoes on before we make you walk outa here barefoot." 

"It's cold out there, got to be at least 40 tonight. Don't I at least get to put on a coat or something?" 

"You see us complaining?" one of the young men sneered. 

"Nah, you're too macho for that, aren't you?" she replied contemptuously. 

"Let's get this over with," one of the young men said moving closer. 

Christy suddenly threw a cup of hot coffee into his face. As he spluttered and cursed, the other man charged for her, but instead found himself flying through the air. He quickly recovered but stayed where he was lying. 

"That's a good boy," Stormy said. "Stay just the way you are," she ordered holding her gun on him. "You too," she said to his partner who angrily mopping the coffee from his face, "On the ground and spread them. I'm sure you know the drill." 

After several quick moments of work Stormy and Christy had the two young men tied up securely. 

"Thanks," Christy said, "What now?" she asked. 

"I'm taking you to a safe place," Stormy replied hastily as she led the girl down the stairs and out the door. "I think this place has gotten too hot for you." 

Stormy dumped her disguise into the trunk of her car then joined Christy in the front seat. Driving leisurely past the front of the clinic, she was glad to notice that the punks' car was still there. _Good_, she thought,_ the longer it takes for them to be discovered, the longer we have to get to safety._

Looking in her rearview mirror, Stormy found herself almost regretting not seeing a big black car behind her. It might have been interesting to meet the Green Hornet again. _Oh well_, she thought, _I'm sure he has more important things on his mind._

III 

Danielle regretfully headed toward the mall exit. She had lost track of how long she had been there and the sun had set at least an hour ago. It wasn't that she had needed to buy anything, it was just that she needed some time to herself, to think, to get away from the tension that hung around the Sentinel like an overheated miasma. The life that had once been so simple had suddenly became so very complicated. She was finding herself seriously doubting the plans that she had so innocently made a mere few months ago. Finishing law school and becoming a lawyer was fast becoming an irrelevant dream. 

First had come the shocking discovery that not only had her father been the Green Hornet but worse, he had returned to the dangerous double-life that had once almost killed him. Now he was in jail, the Sentinel's future was in doubt, John was running around with Lee in the Black Beauty and the man that she had once entertained romantic thoughts about turned out to be her half-brother. Her mother seemed to be heroically holding up under the pressure, but Danielle wasn't too sure about herself. 

With a sigh and a crooked smile, she caught sight of her two shadows as they folded their newspapers ---the Daily Sentinel, of course--- under their arms and headed after her. Shaking her head wryly, she waited for the Laurel and Hardy of the newspaper world catch up with her. _What a pair_, she thought, as she watched them. The heavyset Mike Axford, old enough to be her grandfather, still favored wearing a suit and tie even though neither looked like it had ever been touched by an iron. The battered hat he was wearing was probably as old she was. His smooth florid complexion belied his age as did his still slightly red thinning hair and determined pace. 

He couldn't quite keep up with the lanky Ed Lowrey. A tall lantern-jawed scarecrow of a man, he had to shorten his long loose-limbed strides for the older man to keep up with him. Not that either man would admit to it. Dani could already tell that they were arguing about something. It didn't really matter what they were arguing about. It could have been the Lion's chances for the super bowl this year, the weather or how much better the Old Days were than Today. They just seemed to love to argue. 

"It's a good thing the mall has some chairs for you guys to sit in while I was shopping," Danielle commented as they neared her. 

"Hmph," Axford said, "That was Lowery's idea. A real newspaperman gotta be able to stand on his feet all day long waitin' for a story. Why in my day . . . " 

"Yeah, in your day," Lowery interjected with a slow drawl, "A Real newspaperman used to stand on boiling hot concrete in his bare feet just waiting for a story to fall in his lap. 'Course in those days stories were chiseled onto stone tablets." 

"I'd like you to know, you young whippersnapper," Axford growled at Lowery, "I never stood around waiting for a story, I . . . " 

"I know you went out after them," Lowery continued for him, "Hi yo Silver and away!" he said, waving his hand over his head as if he was twirling an invisible lariat. 

Axford's mouth closed with a snap as he glowered at the younger man. 

"Guys," Danielle said before Axford could think of a reply. "Look, I know Mom and Dad wanted you to watch out for me, but do you have to go everywhere I do? Don't you have a story to cover or something?" 

"Now, Danielle," Lowery replied gallantly, "There's nothing more important than keeping an eye on you." 

"Yeah," Mike agreed, "We gotta keep an eye on you. If anything happened to you . . . I just don't know what we'd do." He pulled a long face, "It's the least thing an old man like me can do. After all, you're like a daughter to me," he said seriously. Then he shot a sour look at Lowery, "Of course with that young man there. I gotta keep an eye on him too. Can't just let him hang around you all by himself. You know what's always on his mind." 

"Now Axford, you wound me," Lowery said as he dramatically pressed his hand over his breast, "I have nothing but honorable intentions." 

"Young scoundrels like you haven't the slightest idea of what's honorable," Mike sharply replied. 

"Mike," Danielle broke in, "I really appreciate your and Ed's thoughtfulness. I really do, it's just . . . ," she ended with an exasperated sigh. 

"Sorry, Dani girl," Mike said, softening, "I know you're under a lot of stress and I don't mean to add to it. We're only here because we care." 

"I know," Danielle replied, giving Axford a big hug. 

"One for me too?" Lowery asked hopefully with a hang dog look on his face. 

Danielle shook her head, but gave him one anyway. "Ahhh," he said with a blissful look on his face. 

"Watch your hands," Axford growled at him. 

Lowery stepped away from Danielle, shoving his hands into his pockets. The gleeful look did not disappear from his face. 

"You're incorrigible," Danielle said kiddingly to the straw haired reporter. 

"And you love me just the way I am," he said jokingly. 

"At least that French dandy isn't hanging around no more," Axford growled. Noticing the sudden look of distress on Danielle's face, he added, "I'm sorry if it hurts, but that type . . . They're nothin' but trouble. As soon as things get rough they disappear into the woodwork. Don't worry yourself about him. He isn't worth it. You're too good for him." 

"I guess you're right," Dani said reluctantly, unable to reveal to the two reporters the dangerous game the Frenchman was playing. "I thought I had seen some good in him . . . " 

"That's how that type of guy sucks in pretty girls like you," Mike said sagely, "They get all romantic and lovey-dovey like that and then boom . . . You're lucky he decided to take off when he did. It might hurt for a while, but you'll get over it. You'll find somebody, you just wait and see." 

"Like me?" Lowery asked hopefully. 

Axford glared at him, "No," he said snapped. He wrapped an arm around Danielle, "You're going to be all right, Dani." 

"I know, Mike," she replied with a small smile. "I just hope Jacques is all right." 

"Don't worry, his type always lands on their feet. He's probably sittin' right now in some fancy French hotel with some caviar and big glass of champagne. Take my word for it," he said positively. 

"Mike . . . " Lowery interrupted. 

"What?" Mike shot back angrily. He noticed for the first time a squad of noisy motorcycles coming into the mall's parking lot. 

"I don't think I like the look of them," Lowery said. 

"Me neither," Mike said, rushing Danielle toward her car. "We gotta get Dani outta here." 

It was too late. The motorcycles were moving too fast. Before they could reach Danielle's car, the motorcycles had blocked their way. Roaring down the parking lot lanes from both directions, the Knights screamed and banged duct-taped baseball bats against cars as they charged toward Ed, Mike and Danielle. 

Ed shoved Danielle behind him and Mike, "Get out of here!" he yelled at her, "I'll try to slow them down." 

"I can't leave you!" Danielle screamed back at him, her voice barely able to be heard above the growling motorcycles. 

"I said get out of here," Ed shot back to her, "Your dad'll kill us if anything happens to you!" 

"Ed! Mike!" Danielle protested. 

"Ed's right," Mike said, pulling and pushing her between the cars, "We'll slow those spaldeens down while you take off." 

Suddenly one of the motorcyclists was in front of them, swinging his bat, he hit Mike square on. Mike fell to the asphalt in a crumpled heap. 

"Mike!" Danielle screamed. Crouching over him, she yelled at the attacker who was swinging up the bat of another blow. "Don't!" 

Ed jumped him, dragging the motorcycle thug to the ground. "Dani, get out of here!" he yelled. 

Danielle backed away in confusion. She knew that running was useless but all her instincts urged her to flee from the chaos surrounding her. There was no way Ed could hold their attackers off. He was already losing his battle with his vicious foe. Mike was too still. She couldn't abandon him, no matter how much he and Ed wanted her to. 

She backed up right into Husky Buske's solid mass. "I suggest you come with us if you don't want your friends hurt," he suggested in a too reasonable voice. 

Danielle turned around to face the hairiest man she had ever seen. "You won't be hurt," he said, "We're just going to take you for a little ride." 

A motorcycle with a side car pulled up behind him. "See, you can even go in style. Hell, we brought you something," he said pulling out a ridiculously pink girl's helmet, "So you wouldn't get your pretty little head hurt." 

"Don't!" Ed protested from the tattooed arm that was wrapped in a hammer lock around his neck. 

"All he has to do is squeeze a little bit more and your friend'll be a dead man. You want that, Girl?" 

"Dani . . . " Ed gasped pleadingly, "Don't . . . " 

Danielle shook her head. "I have to," she said to Ed. 

Hiding her terror, Danielle scornfully snatched the helmet out of Husky's hands and regally climbed into the sidecar. Husky grinned at her. "Girl's got some spirit," he muttered under her breath. 

"What d'ya what me to do with this guy?" asked the man sitting on top of the struggling Lowrey. 

Husky shot a quick glance at Danielle who was forcing herself not to watch. His grin widened. "Gimme your cuffs," he said to one of his men. "Stretch here ain't goin' nowhere, so no point in harming him. 'Sides we gotta have somebody around who'll say what happened to the girl. At least that's the plan." 

Danielle squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the tears that were threatening to fall. She silently prayed that Mike would be okay. 

Ed struggled against the handcuffs uselessly as the motorcycles roared away. _Where the hell is the Green Hornet when you need him?_ he thought miserably. 

IV 

Morrisey tiredly placed his cards face down on the table in front of him and glanced at Britt Reid who was pacing across the room. "You know Reid, you're going to wear a hole in that damn carpet if you keep on doing that." 

Britt stopped his pacing. "I can't help it," he replied, "I can't sit still. I have a feeling that something is going to happen tonight." 

"Since when have you become a psychic?" Morrisey asked derisively. 

Shaking his head, Britt said, "I can't explain it. It's just that I've had a bad feeling in my gut all day long." 

"Maybe it's that pizza we ordered. Probably too spicy for you." 

"I don't know," Weston interjected looking up from the cards in his hands. "Haven't you ever had a hunch or something?" he asked his partner. 

Morrisey huffed his disgust. Looking more like a varsity football quarterback than a cop, Weston was several years his junior. "You still got a lot to learn yet. When you've been around as long as I have, you'll learn never to put your trust in anything you can't see, feel, hear or touch. And even then don't ever trust anything completely but yourself." 

"And your partner?" Weston asked. 

"Well," Morrisey hedged, "It's always good to trust your partner too, but . . . " he ended with a shrug. 

Knowing that Morrisey had gone through several partners, some good, some bad, Weston let Morrisey's reply pass without taking offense. "Still, I've heard about guys whose hunches have saved their lives. What Bob Fricke? He told me that a few years ago he was in a building on an arson investigation when he had the over powering feeling he had to get out of there. Moments later the whole thing collapsed. If he hadn't left when he did he would've been killed." 

"Fricke probably heard something was starting to go without realizing it. His instincts told him to get the hell out of the there before it was too late." 

"But what about Garcia and Horowitz? They both have told me that if it hadn't been for hunches they'd been killed several times over. And what about Sandy Smithson, she swears by her intuition when it comes to making drug busts. She can always tell when she has a live one." 

Morrisey snorted. "For one thing," he began, ticking off on his fingers, "Garcia and Horowitz are both genuine space cases. They carry crystals in their pockets and mediate during their lunches. It's a good thing they're partners, nobody else would be able to put up with them. As for Sandy, one of the best officers I know, but there you're dealing with intuition, especially woman's intuition. I never discount intuition, because it's the most powerful tool a cop can have." 

"How's intuition different?" Weston asked. 

"Because intuition is based on instinct and instinct is based on training and experience. You get enough years under your belt and you don't have to think, it's all automatic. You just know when something's coming down. That's instinct and like I said, intuition is based on instinct. You know something's going to happen because you've seen it happen hundreds of times before under the same set of circumstances and with the same type of people. Nothing mysterious about it." 

Unconvinced, Weston turned to Britt who had been listening to their discussion with interest, "What do you think, Mr. Reid?" 

Britt shrugged. "I like to think I'm a realist like Morrisey, but I've learned that I should never ignore my gut feelings. Could be instinct, intuition, like Morrisey says, or you could call them hunches, but all I know is that I ignore them at my own peril." 

"Like tonight?" Morrisey asked pointedly. 

"Yes." 

"I think you're just going stir crazy. Happens to people all the time when they're locked up for a while. Some people can take it better than others." Morrisey paused thoughtfully, "Could be that you're getting antsy. I kind of feel that way myself about this case of yours. Things are definitely starting to come to a head." 

Britt nodded. He walked over to look over Weston's shoulder at the cards in his hands. Over Weston's protests he laid the cards on the table. He frowned at them, aces and spades, the death hand. "There are people who will stop at nothing to see me dead," he said meaningfully. 

Bullets suddenly shattered the windows near them, stitching the wall behind him. Britt dove to the floor, followed moments later by Weston. Weston automatically drew the gun from his shoulder holster. Britt noted that the right shoulder of the young man's shirt was reddening with blood. Their eyes met, Weston, forcing himself to grin, said, "I think your hunch is right." 

Bullets were zinging over their heads. A light bulb in a lamp next to them shattered with a loud pop and a spray of diamond sharp shards of glass. Britt crawled to the side of the young detective, "Are you okay?" he asked. 

Weston nodded. "I'm fine. I was just winged. That's all." 

Britt took a closer look and nodded his agreement. "You'll live. That is if you don't get hit again. Keep low," he suggested unnecessarily. 

Weston hissed in pain as he sidled himself closer to the couch. Britt helped him lean against it in a more comfortable position. "I didn't think it would hurt this much." He looked sheepishly at the editor, remembering that the older man had had more than his share of bullet wounds. "I guess you know a lot about that." 

Britt nodded. "Doesn't matter what kind of wound it is, it still hurts like hell." He shot a quick look for Morrisey. The senior detective was no where to be seen but his cursing told Britt that he was still alive and vividly angry. 

"Morrisey," Britt yelled over the sound of gunfire, "Are you okay?" 

"Yeah," Morrisey yelled back, "How about you and Weston?" 

"Weston's been hit, but he'll make it. I'm fine." 

More light bulbs were popping as they were hit and the tv shattered from multiple hits. One final light was hit and they were plunged into darkness. Britt heard Morrisey's voice closer to him, this time in a whisper, "I don't think they're going to let up 'til the roof falls on top of us." 

"That'd be one way to do it," Britt said, "but that attracts a lot of notice." 

Morrisey snorted, "We're way out in the middle of nowhere, by the time our backup gets here we're all going to be Swiss cheese." 

"So you did get a call out?" Britt asked. 

"Yeah, for all the good that'll do us. They'll never get to us in time." 

Britt nodded. "Sooner or later they're going to charge the house." 

"That's the way I see it," Morrisey said. 

Britt felt the heavy weight of a gun slip into his hands. "I know you're not one to use lethal weapons," Morrisey said hinting at the fact that the Green Hornet only used non-lethal weapons, "But I have a feeling that you know how to use them anyway." 

"I do," Britt replied. 

"Are you a good shot?" 

"Very." 

"Willing to use it against somebody?" 

"Considering the circumstances, yes." 

"I have a feeling that we're not going to be seeing some black car come to our rescue." 

"Probably not," Britt said grimly. 

"Are you going to able to hang in there?" Morrisey asked. 

Britt glared at the black shadow that was the elder detective. "What makes you think I'm going to break?" he demanded tautly, not willing to admit to the detective, or himself the panic that was threatening to send him running through the front door. 

"Dunno," Morrisey answered carefully, "Except I'm about ready to shit in my drawers as it is, and figuring you've been through something like this before . . . " 

Pulling back on the bolt of the gun in his hands, Britt replied harshly, "Last time I wasn't armed." 

"Good," Morrisey answered, satisfied more with the steadiness in the publisher's voice than his words. "What about you Weston?" 

"I'll make it," Weston answered, "But we got to do something. We can't just sit here and wait for them to come in after us." 

"Got a point there, could be better than charging out the door though," Morrisey said. "What about you, Reid?" 

"We could stay in here. Surround ourselves with enough pieces of furniture to protect ourselves. It'd be a more defensible position. They'd have to come in after us and we could pick and choose our targets. Save ammo and maybe give more time for back up to show up. Problem is, I hate sitting around and waiting. Could give them more time to think of something else." 

"Good point," Morrisey said. "I'd sure as hell like to get my hand on the bastard who set us up." 

"So would I," Britt admitted. He was quiet for a few moments, then asked, "Does anyone have matches or a lighter?" 

Weston handed him a lighter, "I don't smoke, but you never know when one'll come in handy." 

"What're you thinking, Reid?" Morrisey asked. 

"What would be a way for them to force us out?" Britt asked as he flicked the lighter. For a moment his face was cast in deep shadows and bright light before disappearing into the darkness. 

"They could burn us out," Weston said. 

"Exactly," Britt said. 

"So . . . ?" Morrisey asked. 

"How about if they think a fire has started?" 

"They'd expect us to run out in a panic . . . "Morrisey said, starting to follow Britt's thoughts. 

"Right into their arms..." Weston continued. 

"It'd be like shooting fish in a barrel," Morrisey finished. 

"Unless we do the unexpected," Britt said. "We're not completely surrounded. I haven't heard any shots coming from behind the house." 

"I don't think they'd be stupid enough to leave the back unguarded," Morrisey said doubtfully. 

Britt agreed, "A smart man would have it watched. It'd be a good way to catch somebody who was trying to escape." 

"Unless their attention was caught somewhere else," Weston said. 

"Like by a fire . . . " Morrisey said. 

"Right," Britt said. "If they think that we're being burned out . . . " 

"And giving up." 

"Then all of their attention would be where we wanted it, while we would be making our escape in the other direction." 

Britt touched the flame of the lighter to the couch and then to one of the chairs. For a few moments the fire tentatively ate at the upholstery with small bright bites. Despite the bullets that still zinged around their heads, Morrisey watched entranced as the flames licked higher, getting hungrier for something else to devour. He felt perversely like they were sitting around a campfire except instead of roasting wienies they were taking a risk that could result in their own lives literally going up in smoke. 

Morrisey drew his attention away from the growing fire. "Think it's big enough for them to notice?" 

Reid drew his gaze away from the fire. His pale blue-eyed gaze was steady but Morrisey noticed a pale sheen of sweat on the man's face. _Heat?_ Morrisey wondered, _or something else?_ _How long would the big publisher be able to keep from panicking?_ he thought. He had known men who had broken under lesser circumstances, those who had not come as close to death as Reid had. 

Reid's firm voice broke through Morrisey's thoughts. "More than big enough," he replied. "Better now before it really becomes dangerous." He shot a look at the younger detective who had become alarmingly silent. "We better get him out of here while he can still stay on his feet." 

"I'll make it," Weston protested. "Just point the way." 

Reid nodded to Morrisey. "Showtime. You and Weston head for the back door." 

Morrisey crawled to Weston's side. He didn't much like the size of the red stain that covered the young man's shoulder. The smoke around them was getting thicker. Soon it would be impossible for them to breathe. It was one more reason for them to stay close to the ground. 

He heard Reid shout loud enough to be heard above the whining bullets, "Help! Fire! For God's sake we give up! We're going to burn to death. We give up!" 

The detective was half surprised to hear the gunfire suddenly stop. Above the unnerving silence a heavily accented voice answered Britt's plea. "Yeah, sure. We'll stop firing. That is if you give up. No funny stuff." Morrisey could almost see the snickering faces around the speaker. He was sure they had no intention of letting anyone survive. "How many of you are there?" the speaker demanded. 

"Just two. Now. There were two cops with me, but one of them was killed. The other's hurt very badly. He'll die if he doesn't get medical care soon." Britt broke into a loud fit of coughing that made Morrisey wonder if it was an act or not. Then Britt continued, "I'm the one you want. I'll give up myself up, if you'll let him go." 

"Sure," the voice said. By this time Morrisey had it tagged as being Caribbean, perhaps even the new head of the Trinidad gang, Mbeka. "Keep your hands up and come out. We promise we won't shoot." 

"I'm coming out," Britt said. He shot a look at Morrisey and Weston, "Now," he mouthed as he motioned them to the back door. "It's going to take me a few minutes," he shouted as joined the detectives. 

"No way they're going to fall for this," Morrisey said cynically as he opened the back door. Black smoke billowed out around them as they stepped into the cool night air. 

Too late Morrisey saw the dark leering face above an equally dark revolver. "You think we're that stupid?" the man demanded. 

Britt already had his gun drawn, aiming it at the gunman. "Fire and you're a dead man," he gritted. 

The gunman's grin widened. "It's hopeless," he said. "All it takes is a gun shot and the entire gang will be on you in an instant." 

"Maybe," Britt replied, "But you'll still be dead." 

Suddenly the gunman's leer changed to a look of stunned surprise as the silver blade of a sword split him from shoulder to hip. He fell to the ground in two pieces moments before he realized he was dead. Morrisey gaped open-mouthed at the slender woman who faced them. She calmly wiped her sword's bloody blade on the body of the man before she returned it to the scabbard behind her back. 

"What the hell?" Morrisey gasped, "What's a Ninja doing here?" 

"Not Ninja," Britt said in a low voice, "The sword's all wrong. Ninjas use a single bladed sword that's slightly curved. Hers is a Chinese straight double bladed sword called a wu jian." 

"Chinese?" Morrisey questioned. 

"Yes, she's a Chinese assassin," Britt explained, "Compared to her people the Ninja are amateurish johnny-come-lately's." He bowed to the woman, fist in palm, saying, "We are honored by your presence and much in your debt, Dark One." 

The woman nodded to Britt, "Indeed you are. I exact a price for your lives." 

"What price does one of the Lin Kuei ask for our miserable lives?" Britt said in extremely formal humility. 

"So you know of the Lin Kuei," the woman remarked with interest. 

"I do," Britt answered, "There are few in the West who know of the 'forest demons', but those who do, like myself, hold them in much honor." 

Morrisey was surprised to see the powerful publisher act so humbly. He would have never dreamed it was possible. However, considering that the woman could slice and dice them without blinking an eye, he realized that Reid's tack was the exactly right one to take. 

"The price is information. I seek the one named Thomas Cheung. I have many prospects, but little time." 

"The one you seek is the son of Michael Cheung, the District Attorney," Britt stated half in question, half in confirmation. 

"Cheung's son?" Morrisey blurted in surprise, but clamped his mouth firmly shut when the publisher made a slashing gesture for silence. For a moment the woman turned her eyes on him. Her glance so cold as to be alien. He quickly decided he'd leave the negotiating to Reid. 

"He is the one," she said to Reid, Morrisey forgotten as if he had never existed. "Do you know where he is?" 

"I don't know for a fact where he is, but if the boy is really missing and not with one of his friends, I'm willing to bet that Julius Archer has him. Do you know who Julius Archer is?" 

"I do. Why him?" 

"Julius Archer wants me dead. Very few people knew I was here. One of them was the boy's father, Michael Cheung. I suspect Cheung told Archer where I am. Michael Cheung would have revealed my whereabouts for only one thing." 

"His son," the woman stated. 

"Right," Britt replied. 

"Well stated," she said. "But there are others who might have told this Archer where you were hidden. That is if he is the one who ordered this attack." 

"These are merely my suspicions, especially since it appears that Thomas Cheung is missing," Britt replied. 

The woman considered for a few moments. "I will seek this Julius Archer." 

The sound of sirens far in the distance distracted Britt and Morrisey for a few moments. When they turned back to the woman, she was gone. 

"Did you see where she went?" Morrisey asked Weston who was resting on the ground. 

"Nope. One moment she was there. The next she was gone." The young detective cracked a tired smile. "I really hope I never meet her again. She's not somebody I'd like to have after me," he commented. 

"Neither would I," Morrisey said to his partner. "I wonder why we haven't heard anything from the attackers out front," he said to Britt. "They should've shown up a long time ago." 

Accompanied by coruscating lights that lit the night red, white and blue, the sirens of the quickly approaching police cars became so loud that Morrisey could barely hear Britt's grim reply, "I don't think you want to know." 


	11. chapter eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

**A Matter of Honor**

I 

"Mrs. Reid?" Linda Travis said to Casey as she walked into the Publisher's office at the Daily Sentinel. "There's two men waiting to see you." 

"I'm sorry, Linda, but I can't see anyone this morning. I have too much to do today. Ask them to reschedule for tomorrow." 

"I can't," Linda said apologetically, "they're here already. They're in Mr. Reid's, er, your, uh," the girl came to an embarrassed stop. 

"Never mind. Who are they?" Casey asked. 

"Mr. Archer and Mr. Le Blanc." 

"Get security up here," Casey ordered. "I'm in no mood to talk to them." 

"Mrs. Reid," Julius Archer said smoothly as he stepped in the anteroom, "I believe you should hear us out before you do anything so hasty." 

"Mr. Archer," Casey replied, barely containing her anger, "You will leave immediately, or I swear I will have you forcibly thrown out. I have already said all that I intend to say to you." 

"Perhaps you should reconsider, Madame Reid," Jacques Le Blanc said as he came to stand next to Archer. "This is most important." He glanced meaningfully at Linda. "This is something that is best discussed in private." Next to Archer's smugness, Le Blanc at least had the grace to look uncomfortable. "It is about the Green Hornet," he added very quietly. 

Casey felt her knees start to buckle, but forced herself not to visibly react. This might not have anything to with John and Lee not coming home. It was still early. They could still be at the townhouse resting. 

"Mrs. Reid," Linda asked from behind her, "Do you want me to call security?" 

"No, not yet," Casey replied, surprised that her words could come out so calmly. "I'll take a few minutes to talk to them." 

"Shall I hold your calls?" 

Casey glared at Archer, "Yes, unless it's my son. Then patch him through immediately. And then call security," she added grimly. 

"Of course, Mrs. Reid." 

"Gentlemen," Casey said as she nodded toward the office's open doorway, "After you." 

Casey waited a few moments after the door had closed before turning to Jacques. "I'm surprised to see you with Archer," she said, in a voice filled with bitter disappointment. "Or," she paused, "Was Danielle wrong about you?" 

"In my line of work, Madame," Jacques replied, "A man must be flexible in his alliances." 

"I guess you go where the money is," Casey said tautly. "Or is it power that you prefer?" 

"A man must do what he must do," Jacques replied. 

"Did you have any part in Danielle's kidnaping?" she asked him. 

"Your daughter is safe," Archer interrupted, annoyed that Casey was ignoring him. 

"I half-expected a monster like you were behind it," Casey said. 

"Let's just say that it's a technique in advanced negotiating," Archer said smoothly, "If you sell me the Sentinel, she will be returned safely to you. And forget about the Green Hornet interfering." He pulled the Hornet Sting out of his coat's inner pocket and laid it on Britt's desk right next to his name plate. "I don't think he will be doing much of anything any more." 

Forcing herself not to react, Casey said, "I don't see why I should be concerned about the Green Hornet. He's a mere criminal . . . " 

"He's your son. Or rather was . . . " 

"I have no idea what you're talking about. My son is far too young to be the Green Hornet," Casey said. 

"Come now, Mrs. Reid. I have a hard time believing that your husband would have kept you in the dark all this time. I think you're far too smart to not have clued into the fact that your husband was the Green Hornet." 

"Britt, the Green Hornet? You have got to be kidding." 

"Mrs. Reid," Archer said. "The Green Hornet bears very distinct scars, the exact same scars your husband has." 

"And how do you know that?" Casey demanded. 

"Shannon de la Culebra, has, shall we say, intimate knowledge of that fact." 

"And how did she get this 'intimate' knowledge?" Casey asked. She looked Archer defiantly in the eye. "Was that before or after she tried to kill the Isaacs girl? I'm sure the police would like to know that." 

Ignoring Casey's remark, Archer said with a careless shrug, "Be as it may, the fact remains that the man who went out as the Green Hornet last night is now dead." 

Casey forced herself not to even imagine that Archer was telling the truth. "But that's impossible, if Britt's the Green Hornet as you're claiming," she said, "He's been in jail for the last two weeks. As far as I know it's still impossible for a man to be in two places at once. Unless, of course, you're hinting that the police are letting my husband out at night so that he can run around town as the Green Hornet." 

"Mrs. Reid, please don't act the fool," Archer said, "You know as well as I do that your son has been going out as the Green Hornet in his father's stead." 

"Do you have any proof?" Casey asked, trying not to show her worry. "Or is Shannon also claiming that she has intimate knowledge of my son as well as my husband?" 

Casey forced herself to continue although she feared what she might hear, "How do you know the Green Hornet was killed? I haven't heard anything even though News is my business. How did you hear about it? And what about the police? Have they found any bodies they've identified Green Hornet or his man?" 

"Take my word for it, Mrs. Reid," Archer said, "However I got my information, I do know that the Green Hornet and his man were present at an apartment complex where there was an explosion and a fire." 

"But at this time," Casey said, zeroing on Archer's statement, "No bodies have been found, right? I definitely know I would have been among the first to be notified if there had been, especially if there was anything at all to suggest that the Green Hornet was, or is, my son." 

"Madame Reid," Jacques interrupted, "I fear I must bear the bad news about the Green Hornet's death. I personally saw him and his man go into an apartment just before the explosion. Afterwards, before the investigators arrived, I searched what remained of the apartment. That," he said pointing to the Sting, "Was all that was left." 

Casey picked up the Hornet Sting. It was heavy for its size, well made, covered with small scratches and scuff marks from years of heavy use. She knew it was the real one. "It does look like it might have been scorched, a little," she added doubtfully. "But as to whether that was because of an explosion . . . " 

Searching the Frenchman's face for a lie, she continued, "Did you see any bodies?" 

"No, I believe the heat was too intense for any bodies to remain intact," he replied. 

"And yet this survived?" 

"It was in a protected place," he said. 

"But you are sure the Green Hornet is dead?" she asked, studying Jacques, disturbed by the fact that he looked so much like Britt when he was about the same age. 

"Oui, I am positive," he said, seeming, almost, for some reason, to will her to believe. 

Casey reluctantly laid the Sting down. She forced herself not to snatch for it when Archer picked it up and put it back into his coat pocket. Instead she said to the billionaire, "I take it you are behind the Green Hornet's death?" 

"Not directly," Archer replied, "I wanted the Green Hornet alive, but a, uh, an associate of mine decided otherwise. It was all over by the time I found out about it." 

Casey looked at Jacques curiously, "But you were there? Why?" 

"I was following Monsieur Archer's associate. I believed he was up to no good. Unfortunately I was correct. I could do nothing. It happened too quickly." 

Steeling herself, trying to pretend she was talking about a stranger, Casey said, "Regardless of whether or not the Green Hornet is dead, I know for a fact that neither my son nor my husband is the Green Hornet. His death, like his life, has nothing to do with me or my family." 

"And what about your daughter?" Archer asked, "You still have her to think about. My demand remains; sign the Sentinel over to me and she will be returned to you safely." 

"How can I believe that?" Casey demanded, "You know as soon as she is free she will tell everyone, including the police, that you were behind it." 

"She has no idea that I am connected to her kidnaping." Archer raised his hand when Casey started to say something, "I'm sure that you know that her safety depends on you remaining silent on that fact." 

"I won't sign anything," Casey said, starting to give in, "Not until I discuss it with my husband." 

"I don't think he is in any position to discuss anything," Archer said. 

"I hate to disappoint you, Archer," Britt said from the open doorway. "But your killers failed. Not only that, but the Judge has agreed to let me out on my own recognizance. My lawyer convinced her that since the police haven't been able to protect me, I'd be better off on my own." 

"We found the Isaacs girl," Britt continued, seeing Archer's poorly hidden look of dismay, "She's willing to talk. And when she does you and Shannon De la Culebra will be finished. If you're lucky, maybe you can claim that you were an innocent dupe in Shannon's scheme, but I swear I'll do everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen." 

"What about your daughter?" Archer asked. 

"You will immediately return her safely or I swear I will hunt you down and kill you with my bare hands." 

"Really?" Archer hissed angrily. 

"Try me," Britt gritted. 

Archer's face purpled with anger, but he wordlessly turned away from the much taller publisher and pushed past him through the open doorway. 

As the billionaire passed him, Britt said, "I lied when I first came in." 

Archer paused, but didn't turn around. Britt continued, "I'm not at all sorry about disappointing you. In fact, it's my pleasure to do so." 

Archer turned to face the much taller publisher, "I'm not finished," he said, defiantly, "Not by a long shot. There is nothing that you can do to bring your son back. He's dead. The Green Hornet is dead. Hakenkrueze killed him," he said with grim satisfaction, pleased to see the shock in Britt's face when the meaning of his words hit him. 

"Jacques," Britt said to the Frenchman as he followed Archer out of the office, "I didn't think you were the type of man to be Archer's lapdog." 

Jacques bowed slightly to Britt and Casey, "A man must do what he must. I swear on my honor that Danielle will be returned to you safely." 

"Do you intend to go down with Archer?" Britt asked him. 

With a gleam in his ice blue eyes, Jacques said with a sly smile, "Like I said before, Monsieur Reid, a man must do what he must. Have no fear. I am a survivor." 

"Then I'll give you a warning," Britt said, "There's another player in the game. Deadly. Chinese. If Archer has the Cheung boy, he can kiss his ass goodbye." 

"Understood." Jacques bowed to Britt, then pressed his lips to Casey's hand. "Monsieur, Madame. Adieu." 

Once the door had closed behind Jacques, Casey buried her face against Britt's chest, allowing the tears that had been threatening to finally fall. He wrapped his arms around her as she shook from the release of her pent up fears. "Shh," he said, caressing her, enjoying the fresh smell of her hair, "It's okay. Frank told me everything. I'm proud of you. You did well." 

"Oh, my god, Britt. He said that John's dead. He said that Hakenkrueze killed him in some kind of explosion. I haven't heard from John or Lee all night. They never came home. What if Archer is right?" 

"Don't assume anything," Britt cautioned her, "Not until I call Frank." 

Britt called Frank while Casey went into the office's washroom to freshen up and compose herself. She did not want to be present while Britt talked to their old friend. When she returned, she couldn't tell from his expression whether the news was good or bad. 

When she asked him, he said, "Frank says that there was a fire at an apartment building, probably the one where the Isaacs girl lived with her boyfriend. One body was discovered, badly damaged by the fire, but as far as the M.E. can tell, the person was probably dead before the fire started, or at least he hopes so." 

"Why?" Casey asked, hoping that the victim was not John or Lee. 

"The M.E. says that the victim's arms had been torn off. He doubts it was caused by the explosion or the fire afterwards. Frank says there's nothing at the scene to show that the Green Hornet had ever been there." 

"So John and Lee might still be okay," Casey said hopefully. 

"I hope so," Britt said cautiously, "Especially if they had been killed, the Black Beauty would still be there. There's no sign of it anywhere." 

"So somebody must have driven it away, like John and Lee," Casey said. 

"My thoughts exactly," Britt replied. 

"But Jacques said they were dead. He saw them go into that apartment," Casey said doubtfully. 

"But is he telling the truth?" Britt asked. "Something happened to the Black Beauty. Either John and Lee drove it away or it was taken by somebody else who had a need for it." 

"But why?" Casey asked. 

Britt shrugged. "I have no idea, but I think that Archer is in for some more unpleasant surprises." 

II 

Archer wandered around his mansion feeling uneasy. Britt Reid's escape from the safe house had put his plans in serious jeopardy, especially after the publisher had given him the unsettling news that they had the Isaacs girl. He still had a few aces in the hole, but the margin of success was getting narrower by the day. 

The evening was quickly advancing after what had been a dissatisfying dinner. The Frenchman had kept to himself, drinking too much wine even though he had snobbishly called it a disappointing vintage. Hakenkrueze, who had decided to decorate himself with general's stars, had wordlessly wolfed down his food before rejoining his men in another section of the mansion. Shannon, the one person he could count on for interesting conversation, had left before sunset to make sure that Buske was still following orders. 

Noticing that the door to his personal media room was slightly ajar, Archer entered it as silently as he could. Inside he found the Frenchman intensely studying one of the many television monitors that covered room's north wall. Archer could set the monitors to anything he wanted, from the Hong Kong stock exchange to a guest's bathroom. Right now the only monitor that was on was showing a cell hidden deep in one of the mansion's lower basements. 

Trying not to hide his disappointment that Le Blanc had not jumped or even flinched by his sudden appearance, Archer asked, "What fascinates you so much about our prisoners, Le Blanc?" 

Le Blanc nodded toward the screen, "What is going to happen to young Cheung?" 

"I'm not sure yet," Archer said, "It depends upon his father. If everything goes as planned tomorrow, I'll have a few things he'll need to do for me. If he does them, I'll release the boy. If he doesn't . . . " Archer shrugged, "Like I said, it depends on his father." 

"It is to be tomorrow then," Jacques said thoughtfully. 

"We can't wait any longer. Especially now that Reid's been released. If we don't act soon, it'll be too late." 

"I see," Jacques replied. He considered the scene on the screen in front of him. Tommy Cheung was lying listlessly on a narrow bunk staring at nothing in particular. Leaning against the wall across from Cheung were the Green Hornet and Kato. Their clothes were torn in several places and still smelled of smoke. Kato looked none the worse for wear, although every once in a while he moved uncomfortably from the ache from his barely healed back wound. The Green Hornet's blonde hair fell over a stained bandage that was wrapped around his head. Despite their seemingly hopeless situation, they appeared to be engaged in an earnest conversation. 

"They're lucky Hakenkrueze didn't get to them first," Archer said nodding toward the Green Hornet and his man. 

"Are they?" Le Blanc said cynically. 

"Of course," Archer replied. "If Hakenkrueze had found the Green Hornet escaping from the apartment instead of us, he would have torn the Hornet limb from limb." 

"Then it is a good thing I found out about Hakenkrueze's plans, wasn't it?" Le Blanc remarked. 

Archer studied the Frenchman's face, "What would you have done if my man had not followed you?" he asked. 

Le Blanc's jaw tightened, but he didn't say a word. 

"Do you honestly think I trust you enough to allow you to go wherever you want without an escort?" Archer asked. 

"Of course not," Le Blanc answered, failing in his attempt to sound indifferent. "That would be foolish," not saying if the fool was himself or Archer. 

"It's a pity you had to lie to the Reids but in a way you were telling them the truth. It's just a matter of timing." 

"You didn't seem surprised when I accused Reid of being the Green Hornet. Did you already know?" 

"Non," Le Blanc replied. "It seemed . . . " he paused, searching for the right word. "It seemed, logical, somehow." 

"Logical . . . " Archer huffed, "I wouldn't call running around the city wearing a mask and fighting crime logical." 

"It is no more logical than a plan to take over the world," Le Blanc replied. He pressed a button on the desk in front of him and the monitor went black. 

Archer glared at Le Blanc, "There is a logic to it, if you were able to understand it." 

"So is there logic to the Green Hornet," Le Blanc answered. He chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. "Cheung knows about the Green Hornet," he said, nodding toward the darkened monitor. "After sharing a cell with him and his man, it's hard not to." 

"That is a problem isn't it?" Archer admitted coldly. 

"You have no intention of freeing him or Danielle Reid. Do you?" 

"You're being richly rewarded for your involvement," Archer answered tightly. "What happens to them is none of your business. Unless, of course, you still care for the girl." 

"She means nothing to me," Jacques replied harshly. 

Archer studied Jacques face, trying to find the truth behind his words, but the young man's pale green eyes were as opaque as a closed door. "She might be useful as a way to keep Reid under control until I take care of him and his wife," Archer continued thoughtfully, still studying Jacques' reactions, "Once they're out of the way, she might be a useful way to legitimize your possession of the Daily Sentinel as Reid's only surviving heir. It might make it more palatable to the staff, at least until we have the chance to eliminate all the dead wood and replace it with our own people." 

"That would be logical way to handle things, wouldn't it," Jacques said, "It would also be a way for you to make sure I follow your orders." 

Archer's face brightened into a nasty smile. "I'm glad we understand each other. Money, after all, can only buy so much loyalty." 

"But love can buy so much more," Jacques said with naked disgust as much for himself as for Archer. 

"Indeed it can," Archer agreed. "At least you're a realist," he said, "Only idiots like the Reids would be willing to sell their lives for something as useless as idealism." 

"You are right, Monsieur Archer," Jacques agreed, as he pulled himself out of his chair, "And since we are on the subject of being richly rewarded, I believe it is time for you to do so." 

"Don't you want to hang around for the fireworks?" Archer asked as he followed Jacques out of the room. 

"Non," Jacques replied, "The sooner I am out of this blasted country the better." 

"Are you implying you don't want the Daily Sentinel?"Archer asked in surprise. 

"That's right, I don't want it. I never said that I did. Just give me what you owe me, and I'll call the whole thing finis." 

"I don't get you," Archer said, truly mystified, "How can you refuse power when it is handed to you on a silver plate?" 

"There is no power in something that is given with the kind of conditions you attach to it." 

"Conditions come with everything, even love," Archer said, "Nothing is unconditional. Greatness, wealth, power, they all have their conditions, but the rewards that come with them can be tremendous." 

"I want nothing of those things . . . " 

"Don't pretend that you're better than everyone else, Le Blanc. You're just as greedy and power hungry as the rest of us. You just don't want to want to make the effort. You're too lazy to take on any kind of responsibilities. Whether it's the Daily Sentinel, Le Blanc Enterprises in Europe or love," Archer said with open disgust. "You value your independence so much that you refuse to commit to anything." 

"I don't need psychoanalyses from you of all people," Jacques interrupted angrily. "Just pay me like we agreed." 

"I'll pay you. I'll even allow you to keep the El Greco," Archer said. At the puzzled look on Le Blanc's face, he continued, "I don't like being bested, especially when it involves something I had gone through so much trouble to obtain, but," he shrugged, "Time is at a premium. I can't waste my time trying to get it out of you, but if you cross me again, I swear I will make you pay very dearly." 

"Do not concern yourself," Le Blanc replied tautly, "My dealings with you have ended." 

"Good," Archer said with satisfaction, "We understand each other then. I will give some advice though . . . " 

"What?" Le Blanc said sharply. 

"Be aware that even if you do not choose sides, a side will be chosen for you. The losing one." 

"That is the chance I am willing to take," Jacques replied impatiently, "Just . . . " 

Archer held up his hand, stopping Jacques words, "I know, pay you." They had stopped at the door leading to the art gallery. "I believe you have been here before," he said pointedly. 

"I have," Jacques admitted. 

"This time there will be none of your tricks," Archer said firmly. 

"None," Jacques replied as he followed the billionaire into the room. 

Inside the art gallery Archer led Jacques to the stand where the gaudy emerald and diamond necklace was glittering under bright lights. "Your fee," he said as he lifted the necklace from its velvet stand and handed it to Jacques. 

"I don't know what will distress Shannon more, losing the necklace or losing you," he said, watching with narrowed eyes as Jacques carefully examined the necklace. "She quite enjoyed the little playtime she had with you." 

Jacques frowned his displeasure, "I have no desire to repeat the experience. Her idea of pleasure involves far too much pain for my taste." He glanced at the stand next to Archer. "Why are you displaying a videotape in this art gallery?" 

Archer lifted it from its stand, "That was Shannon's idea. I told her she should get rid of the thing, but she loves to watch it all the time. She says it represents her victory over Reid." He shrugged, "To be truthful, I think she gets off on seeing herself having sex." 

"She was foolish enough to film the entire affair, including her part in it?" 

"Yeah," Archer replied, turning to return the tape to its display stand, "It could be used to prove Shannon's guilt and Reid's innocence, but . . . " he shrugged again, "Whatever Shannon wants, she gets." 

Suddenly alarms started going off all around them. "Le Blanc! This is your doing!" Archer shouted above the noise. 

Jacques slammed a fist into the billionaire's face, sending him instantly to the floor in an unconscious heap. "Non, mon ami, not I," he said as he snatched the videotape from its stand, "It is another." 

He slipped out of the gallery and closed the door quickly behind him. He was not surprised to find the slender Chinese assassin waiting just outside for him. "We must act quickly. They will be sending guards to search inside once they find there is no one on the grounds." 

"Agreed," the woman said, "Lead me to where young Cheung is being kept." 

Jacques led the way down a series of winding stairs passing through different levels of store rooms and basements until they had reached Shannon's private playroom. It resembled nothing more than a medieval torture chamber complete with a rack and an elaborate Iron Maiden. 

Jacques froze in the doorway leading into the room. The days he had spent there as Shannon De la Culebra's toy would haunt him for the rest of his life. For the first time in his life he had found out that life was not the game he had treated it as. It had been a matter of either acquiescing or dying. Slowly. He chose to live and get his revenge later. Now was the time. 

Against the far wall was a series of doors with high barred windows. "They're in the middle one," he said to the woman, "I'll look for the key. I know she keeps it around here somewhere." 

"No time," she said. With a single fluid stroke her sword sung through the air, slashing the door's heavy lock in two. 

The Green Hornet and Kato were the first to react and quickly left the cell. Tommy only stared dully at the open door and the black-clad woman. "Have you been harmed?" she asked sharply. 

He silently shook his head, too apathetic to do anything else. 

"Come quickly. We do not have much time," she said hurriedly. 

Finally rousing himself, Tommy moved to the door. For a moment he stood aghast at the torture chamber. The woman pushed him forward. "Move," she said impatiently, "We must go now." 

"We're going to have to fight our way out," Jacques said to the Green Hornet as they climbed the stairs back up to the main floor. 

The Green Hornet regarded the Frenchman, "How are you at fighting?" he asked. 

Jacques shrugged, "I am not a fighter, but I do know enough Savate to hold my own." 

"And her?" the Green Hornet asked about the woman. "Where did she come from?" 

"She was sent to rescue Cheung." 

The Green Hornet nodded, assessing their odds. "Do you know where the Black Beauty is?" 

"Yes." 

"Good. Is it far?" 

"No, but we may have some trouble getting to it. It is behind the mansion in the main garage." 

"I know where that is. It'll be a stretch to get there from here, but it's our only hope." The Green Hornet took in the size of their group, "We should all be able to fit in the car." 

"I have my own vehicle," the woman stated emotionlessly, "The boy goes with me." 

"Is your car close by?" 

"No. It is outside the gates." 

"Cheung is going to be a problem," the Green Hornet said, "It would be a better idea if the two of you stay with us at least until we're past the gates. After that you can do whatever you want." 

The woman considered for a few moments. Finally she said, "I do not need your assistance, but Cheung will be safer if there are more to protect him." 

"I agree," the Green Hornet said. "Take Cheung with you and follow Jacques here to the garage. Kato and I will cover your back." He paused, noticing that the woman was taking offence at his giving orders. "It's best for Cheung," he added reasonably. "He can't defend himself. You'll have to stay with him and you'll need someone to lead the way to the garage. Kato and I can run interference for you." 

The woman nodded thoughtfully, "As you said, it is my duty to protect Cheung. Your plan is agreeable with me." 

The battle began as soon as they had entered the main foyer. Armed guards were already swarming through the house looking for the intruders. With a yowling cry, the woman charged into the guards, scything through them like a Chinese Valkyrie. More guards charged through the front door. Kato rushed to meet them, his unique cry joining the assassin's as he fought with flying hands and feet. 

Stunned by the noise and carnage that surrounded him, Tommy stood frozen to the ground, unable to move. Barely in time the Green Hornet grabbed him by the arm just as automatic gunfire shattered the lights above his head. Pulling Tommy behind him, the Green Hornet rammed his way through some guards who had stopped in the open doorway, unsure of what was going on. 

"So much for your plan," Jacques commented breathlessly as he ran beside the Hornet and Cheung. 

The Green Hornet nodded his agreement "Not only that, we came out the wrong door. Kato and the Chinese woman might be able to slow down Archer's men, but we're going to have to run all the way around the building to get to the garage." 

"I can't do it," Tommy protested between wheezing breaths. 

"You're going to have to," the Green Hornet argued. 

Tommy collapsed to the ground. "I can't make it," he protested as he sobbed for breath. 

"Get up," the Green Hornet ordered. "We don't have the time for this." 

"I can't," Tommy wheezed, "I can't." 

"Damn it! I'm sure as hell not going to carry you. Get on your feet," the Green Hornet pressed pulling on the young man's arm. 

"We're all dead," Tommy blubbered. "We all gonna die!" 

"Not if you get on your feet," the Green Hornet growled. 

"But . . . " Tommy protested. 

"What's going on?" Kato asked as he and the Chinese woman caught up with them. 

"He's worn out," the Green Hornet answered, torn between annoyance at Tommy's weakness and knowing that he just wasn't physically capable of keeping up with them. 

"I can't run any more!" Tommy protested. 

"We've got to keep moving," the Green Hornet said to the Chinese woman and Kato. 

"Don't leave me behind!" Tommy cried. 

"We have no choice," Jacques said to the younger man, "They will kill us when they catch us." He nodded back the way they had come. "Archer's men have only been briefly delayed. I have no wish to die because of you." 

"But . . . " Tommy protested fearfully. 

"If you do not get up now," the Chinese assassin said coldly as she prodded the tip of her blood-stained sword under his chin, "I will kill you myself." 

Tommy gaped at her, "But my grandfather . . . " 

"You dishonor him. It would be better for you to die now than for him to know his only grandson is a craven coward." She pressed the sword's tip in a little closer until Tommy almost fell backwards as he tried to avoid adding his blood to what was already on it. "Decide. Live or die. I have no more time to waste on someone as unworthy as you," she sneered. 

Tommy's eyes darted at the grim faces surrounding him; the Green Hornet, his man, the Frenchman, the black-clad Chinese assassin. No where did he find any sympathy. Worse was the self-disgust that was growing inside of him. "I'll go," he finally said, pulling himself up to his feet. 

They ran as fast as they could. Time was quickly running out. Even though Tommy was now trying his best, he was still slowing them down too much. Voices behind them told them that their pursuers were quickly gaining on them. 

"Keep it up, Tommy," the Green Hornet urged, "We're almost there." 

Tommy only shook his head, forcing his leaden legs to keep churning. 

Finally, against all odds they made it to the rear of the building. Unfortunately a wide gravel-covered driveway separated the back of the mansion from the garage. A large expanse that was totally exposed to the bright glare of the security lights that had been turned on as soon as the alarm had sounded. 

The Green Hornet stopped cold in his tracks. Anticipating where they were heading, Archer's men had reached the garage ahead of them. They had spread out along the driveway and in front of the garage. There was no way they could get to the Black Beauty without being seen. 

"Your man and I could distract them long enough for you to get to your car," the assassin suggested. 

Shaking his head, the Green Hornet replied, "No way. You'd only get yourselves killed." 

"I am not afraid to die." She shot a quick look at Kato, "Are you afraid to die?" she asked him. "If so I go do this alone." 

"Forget it," the Green Hornet said, hearing pounding feet and shouts from behind them, "It's all over." Within moments they were surrounded by uniformed men wearing the badges of Hakenkrueze's discredited gang of neo-Nazis. 

The Green Hornet quicky noted that while the female assassin and Tommy Cheung was still with them, Le Blanc had disappeared. He didn't know whether to be glad that the Frenchman had made his escape or angry that he had chosen to abandon them at the worst possible time. He groaned inwardly when he saw Hakenkrueze shouldering his way through the men surrounding them. Behind him was an out of breath Archer. 

"Fool!" Hakenkrueze roared at the Green Hornet as he slammed a fist into the masked man's stomach. "Did you actually think you could escape us?" he demanded of the Green Hornet who had fallen to his knees. He slammed another fist into the Green Hornet's face, sending him sprawling to the ground. 

Kato stepped in, grabbing Hakenkrueze's arm and spinning him into a knot of his men who had to scramble to stop him from falling to the ground. 

"Kill him," Hakenkrueze screamed angrily as he shook off his men's grasp. 

"No!" Archer ordered before Hakenkrueze's order could be carried out. 

"Don't interfere with me!" Hakenkrueze growled at the billionaire. "I have no more patience for your idiocy." 

"Don't you dare argue with me, Hakenkrueze," Archer hissed at the much bigger man, "Don't you ever forget that I'm the one in charge here." 

"In charge?" Hakenkrueze sneered, "Go back to your silly little computers and leave the real business of war to professionals." 

"How dare you," Archer said, "Are you forgetting who paid for your precious bionic arm? Without me and Millennium Group, you'd be nothing but a pathetic one-armed loser on the streets begging for a handout." 

"Pathetic!" Hakenkrueze echoed angrily, "Even with one arm I am twice the man you are. You aren't even man enough to keep your little female playmate under control." 

"Bah!" Archer retorted angrily, "You're nothing but a barbaric tin soldier who can't see anything beyond his tiny little world." 

"So you think your precious Millennium group's ideas are any better?"Hakenkrueze answered. 

"Yes," Archer said, "Our plan is not to divide the world as you want to do, but rather to unite it under our control, spiritually, technologically, culturally. Everything. We would finally have a true world government." 

"With you and the Millennium group at the controls," the Green Hornet commented cynically from the sidelines. 

"Yes," Archer said, turning to the Green Hornet. "Of course, we are the only ones who have the vision necessary to achieve a truly unified world. Don't you see that it's for the best? The world will destroy itself very soon, if someone doesn't step in and take control," Archer continued, his face aglow with a true believer's faith. "And bit by bit we are doing it. Already we control almost every source of information; newspapers, television, movies, the Internet. Soon, no matter the source, people will see the world through our lens. We will shape everyone's life from cradle to grave." 

"After, of course, tearing everything down first. Like the Global Commerce Center. Create fear and panic and then what? Offer reassurance? Offer peace and security for the price of liberty?" 

"Well . . . " Archer began a ghost of a smile. His not wanting to admit to the Green Hornet's suspicions warred with his delight in the complexities of the Millennium Group's plans, and more importantly his part in them. 

"How many disasters has the Millennium Group been responsible for?" the Green Hornet pressed. 

"You'd be surprised," Archer teased, "It's all a part of the Millennium Group's master plan. Like you guessed, we destroy people's faith in everything they have taken for granted. Technology, religion, politics, the future itself. Then we offer a solution, a way out of the terror and doubt." 

"And if you control all information sources, who's to call it a lie . . . " 

"Exactly," Archer said. Then he sighed regretfully, "You're a very smart man. I could use someone like you, but I doubt I could ever trust you. Unfortunately the Green Hornet has a reputation for being a double-crosser." 

The Green Hornet nodded his agreement. "It's a means to an end, just like Hakenkrueze is." He looked at the neo-Nazi. "How does it feel to know that you're just a tool that will be discarded when you've outlived your usefulness?" 

Hakenkrueze growled and gritted his teeth, "Think again, Hornet, I will be the leader of vast armies that will control the world," he boasted. 

"Yeah, right," the Green Hornet said. "Just remember what happens to ambitious generals." 

"Enough talk," Archer interrupted. "Where the hell's Le Blanc?" he demanded, suddenly realizing that the Frenchman was not among their captives. 

"Karl, Stephan," Hakenkrueze barked. When the two men came forward and stiffly saluted with outstretched arms, he said, "Look for the Frenchman. If you find him, kill him." 

"We will find him." Hakenkrueze said to Archer, "He couldn't have gotten very far." 

"Not far?" Archer groaned, "He could be halfway to France by now." He swore angrily, "This is no good. Move up the schedule. The attack on the Global Commerce Center will have to be tonight." 

"But," Hakenkrueze protested, "Everything is not in place. We haven't had a chance to get all the explosives in place yet." 

"I don't care. Notify Buske and the rest. They're to start their attack on the Global Commerce Center in about three hours. That should allow you enough time to get your men in place. I want them to set off the explosives about in the middle of the gang attack. That way people will think that the gangs are responsible." 

"Not tonight!" the Green Hornet protested, "The Spring Festival's tonight. There'll be hundreds, if not thousands of people at the plaza." 

"Then their deaths will be your heads," Archer snapped back, "If you had not interfered, we could have delayed. As it is, many people will die and it will be your fault." 

"Archer, this is monstrous," the Green Hornet persisted. 

Hakenkrueze backhanded the Green Hornet, silencing him, even though the masked man's storm-grey eyes still promised defiance. 

"So what are you going to say, Hornet?" Archer demanded, glaring at the masked man, "Are you going to go for the standard heroic twaddle that I'm going to fail?" 

The Green Hornet's jaw tightened as he fought for self control. "Don't crow too soon, my friend," he gritted, "Remember the end of the story hasn't been written yet." 

"You're the one who has failed," Archer growled back at him, "You and your entire family. When I am finished, there will be no one left to oppose me." 

"No," the Green Hornet said very quietly, slowly realizing himself the full import of his destiny, "Not by a long shot. We have survived. We will survive. If one of us falls there will be another. You and your Millennium group will not succeed. Your kind never does. I can promise you that." 

"Fool," Archer hissed. He turned his back on the Green Hornet, trying to dismiss him and his words. "We strike tonight," he said to Hakenkrueze. He added, knowing that the Green Hornet could hear him, "The higher death toll will only make the impact of the attack greater." He turned to face the Green Hornet, "This night will go down in infamy. There will be few who will forget the Green Hornet's part in it. 

"When it's all over, they will find the bodies of the Green Hornet, his man and their car at the scene. It will be obvious the world over that he led the city's gangs in a ruthless attack against hundreds of innocent citizens. Especially after the proof of his actions and the involvement of the Daily Sentinel has been discovered." 

A blissful grin came to Archer's face as he contemplated the results of his deadly plan, "No one will dare say 'nay' to our new law and order programs. After all what is freedom when one's safety is at stake?" 

The Green Hornet remained silent even though he wanted to rage at the billionaire. He wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. His time would come later. 

"What about young Cheung and the woman?" Hakenkrueze asked. 

Archer thought for a few moments, then replied, "I do believe our current D.A. has out-served his usefulness. His son's body at the scene of the destruction will only serve to discredit him. Especially after we have put the correct spin on the 'facts'." 

"And the woman?" Hakenkrueze asked, starting to like where Archer's plans were going. 

Archer studied the black clad woman for a few moments, "Where do you fit in all this?" he demanded of her. 

"I was sent to retrieve Thomas Cheung," she replied with icy pride. 

Archer snorted. "Looks like you failed," he remarked. 

"A wise man does not celebrate victory, until the battle has been fought," she answered. 

"Take off her mask, I dislike sparring with someone whose face I can't see." 

Hakenkrueze nodded to one of his men who approached the woman. "I will not be touched," she hissed. She glared defiantly at Archer, "Remember my face," she said, pulling her black head covering off, "It will visit you many times in your nightmares until you finally die." 

"Hui Ying," Tommy gasped. Beside the Green Hornet, Kato also gave a start of recognition, but quickly recovered before anyone noticed. 

"You know her?" Archer demanded of Tommy. 

"Yeah," Tommy admitted with downcast eyes, thinking that he had been a fool. He should have known that the girl was far more than she had seemed. "We are, uh, were, friends." 

Archer smiled nastily, "I see. How quaint. And you never knew what she really was?" 

"No," Tommy said in a small voice barely above a whisper. 

Archer regarded Hui Ying for a moment. "Bring her with the others. I have a feeling that the presence of a foreign national will serve our cause very nicely." 

"Ahh," Hakenkrueze said appreciatively, "Foreign involvement." 

"Of course," Archer agreed, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. "I love it when a plan comes together." 

III 

It was several hours after sunset when Stormy Weathers found herself driving to Britt Reid's home in the suburb of Valley Grove. With her were her two charges, Christy Isaacs and Sam Sprite. Christy was very quiet, which Stormy couldn't fault her at all for. After all, she was going to be meeting Britt Reid, the man whose life she had helped to nearly destroy. True, she was as much a victim as Reid, but still . . . 

Not only that, Christy was also going to be meeting Britt Reid's wife. Stormy thought, _So, what do you do under those circumstances? Compare notes on how he was in bed?_ She didn't envy the girl at all. 

The one saving grace was Sam Sprite. Stormy glanced into the rear view mirror to the back seat where Sam and Christy were sitting. In a way, they looked good together. Tiny, blonde-haired Christy, who even in jeans and a turtle neck sweater, looked more like an elf than a human girl, and the big, teddy-bearish Sprite who enveloped the much smaller girl with surprising gentle tenderness. 

Christy had immediately taken Sam as a friend from the moment Stormy had introduced them, and more importantly, as a source of comfort. Even now in the back seat the girl leaned into Sam as he wrapped his arm protectively around her. It might not be love, yet, Stormy thought, but it sure looked like the next best thing. 

Sam cleared his throat and asked, "Why aren't we going to police headquarters. Isn't it kind of odd to be going to a private home for questioning?" 

"You're right," Stormy answered. "That's the way things should usually be done. It's just that the circumstances are kind of unusual. You see, I'm working for Frank Scanlon and through him, Britt Reid . . . " 

"Whose home we're going to," Sam interjected. 

"Right. So, since I work for Scanlon and Reid, you might say that I'm doing my job by bringing you and Christy to them so that they can ask you some questions. But," Stormy pointed out before Sam could ask the obvious question, "The D.A. Michael Cheung will be there, too. So in a way, it's kind of semi-official too." Stormy tried to shoot him and Christy a reassuring smile while still trying to keep her eyes on the road. "It'll be a lot more comfortable, too. Police stations have the worse coffee in the world. I'm sure anything that the Reids serve up will be better." 

"It might be safer, too," Sam said thoughtfully. "I heard that Mr. Reid was attacked in jail with the help of the guards there. At least at Mr. Reid's house we should be safe, since the only people who will be there are those who they trust." 

"That's right," Stormy said encouragingly. She didn't add the caveat, "At least we hope so." 

Stormy was relieved to find her fears about the Reids and Christy were unfounded. Mrs. Reid greeted them very graciously at the door. Stormy had seen her on TV during the press conference but in person she was even more beautiful. It was not her physical beauty but rather her dignity and grace that struck the detective. Up close she could see the fine lines of age around her eyes and mouth, but the glow in her face told that they were well-earned through a keen love of life. 

Britt Reid joined them at the door, "Good to meet you," he said to Stormy as he shook her hand. "Frank has told me great things about you. You did a great job protecting Ms. Isaacs and Mr. Sprite. I really appreciate it." 

Stormy smiled and thanked Reid for his praise. She noted quickly where John got his looks. He shared the same strong chin and broad build, although the elder Reid had the most unusual pale aqua grey eyes she had ever seen. She was willing to bet that was what had attracted Mrs. Reid to him in the first place. She knew it would have been in her case. She noted the way they fitted together, like two halves of the same piece. Their relationship had to be something special for it not have been hurt by what had been happening the last few weeks. 

Reid motioned her to the stairs leading up to the second floor, "We're meeting upstairs in my study," he explained, "It's more comfortable up there. Frank and Mr. Cheung are waiting for us up there as well as a police detective, Detective Morrisey." 

Stormy hung back while Mrs. Reid led the way upstairs so that she could speak to Reid in private. "I heard that your daughter was kidnaped. Is it true?" she asked in a low voice. 

Reid nodded. 

"Was anyone hurt?" 

"Unfortunately, yes," he answered, "One of the men who was with her was hurt quite badly." 

"I'm sorry to hear that," Stormy said, "Is he going to be okay?" 

"We don't know yet. He's still in a coma," Reid paused, trying to find the right words, "He's a very old friend of the family. He taught me a lot about being a reporter." 

"I see," Stormy replied quietly. 

Britt took a deep breath, then said, "We're keeping it quiet while we negotiate with the kidnappers." 

"So you've heard from them?" 

"Yes. We'll discuss it later after we get the business with Ms Isaacs and Mr. Sprite squared away." 

"Of course," Stormy said thoughtfully. "It's kind of odd about your daughter being kidnaped. I think I've heard rumors that the D.A.'s son is also missing." 

"I've heard that, too," Reid said without comment even though Stormy had the feeling that he knew a lot more about it than he was admitting. 

"If that's so and his disappearance is connected with Archer and company, Mr. Cheung could be taking a very big chance by being here," Stormy said. 

A troubled look came into the publisher's eyes, "I fear we're all taking a very big chance," he grimaced, then sighed, "Unfortunately, it's the only one we have." 

Upstairs, Stormy found that Christy and Sam had already settled onto a wide leather couch that faced a fireplace that held a crackling fire. Beside the fireplace a tall, dour faced man stood nursing a large mug of coffee. 

"This is Detective Morrisey," Reid said, introducing the man. 

"Pleased to meet you," Stormy replied as she took the police detective's offered hand. 

"I don't think I'd be here today, if it hadn't been for Detective Morrisey and his partner when the safe house I was in proved not to be so safe," Reid supplied, "How's Weston doing?" he asked Morrisey. 

A slight smile appeared on the detective's long face. "He's going to be fine, last I heard. He's young. It's part of the job." he added with a meaningful look at Stormy, "I guess even a P.I. has had a few run ins, huh?" 

Stormy nodded, feeling a sort of fellowship with the police detective, "You can say that. Maybe one of these days we'll get together to swap some old war stories." 

Reid touched her elbow before she and the detective could start swapping. "You've met Frank," he said, nodding to Scanlon who was sitting in a large overstuffed leather chair next to the couch, "And," he continued, as a man rose from his chair and extended his hand. "This is District Attorney, Michael Cheung." 

"I want to thank you for your cooperation," the D.A. said as Stormy took his hand. "Thanks to your help, and that of Ms Isaacs and Mr. Sprite, we're going to be able to put some very dangerous people away for a very long time." 

Stormy smiled and said, thanks, even though his words seemed more keyed for the election circuit than a small gathering in a house in the countryside. She noted the small lines of worry about his mouth and eyes, but didn't say anything even though she had the feeling that the disappearance of his son was a lot more than a rumor. 

Reid directed her to another chair in the room while Mrs. Reid, "Call me, Casey," she urged, pressed on her a coffee cup and a small plate that had a large sweet roll sitting on it. 

Stormy sipped the fragrant coffee while the small talk of getting acquainted washed around her. Casey carried much of the conversation as befitted a proper hostess. Sam replied easily to her questions while Christy added her own replies, first hesitantly, then more confidently under Casey's gentle guidance. Frank and Reid also occasionally added a few remarks, but the D.A. remained quiet as did Morrisey. 

Stormy did her share of talking as well, but as she talked her eyes wandered around the study which was a revelation in itself. A chronicle of Reid family history was documented on its walls with photos, paintings and mementos. One especially intriguing set consisted of a large painting showing a masked man in western style clothing on a big white horse. Beneath the painting was a beautiful set of colt .45 pistols and a well-worn gun belt filled with silver bullets. 

"That's an interesting picture," Stormy asked Britt, "Is that really the Lone Ranger? Isn't he just a fiction character?" 

"No, he was a real person," Britt said, "My grandfather, Daniel Reid Jr., actually rode with him and Tonto when he was a young man." 

"How did that happen?" 

"As far as I understand it," Britt explained, "My great-grandmother was coming out west in a wagon train in order to join her husband who was a Texas Ranger when they were attacked by a bunch of renegade Indians. There were only two survivors; my grandfather, who only a baby then, and an old woman, Mrs. Frisbie. Years later, when my grandfather was a nearly a teenager, the Lone Ranger and Tonto stopped an attack on the farm where he and Mrs. Frisbie lived. Mrs. Frisbie died due to a weak heart and the Lone Ranger took young Dan in until he could be sent to relatives back East. I guess my grandfather must have impressed the Lone Ranger quite a bit because he spent a lot of his summers out West with the masked man and his Indian companion." 

"That's fascinating," Stormy commented. "It's odd though that they would let a young boy ride with them into what must have been sometimes dangerous situations." 

Reid shrugged, "You're probably right," he admitted, "Who knows, maybe the Lone Ranger needed someone to chronicle their adventures. My grandfather did in time become a reporter. He wrote a lot of stories about how the old west was fast disappearing." 

"You know," Stormy said thoughtfully, "There's a lot of coincidences between the Lone Ranger and the Green Hornet." 

"How?" Reid asked. 

"Well," Stormy said, "The Green Hornet's car is named after a horse in a way, you know, Black Beauty, both men wore masks, and they both had companions." 

Wearing a wry smile, Reid shook his head, "I don't know if the Green Hornet really named his car with the idea of naming it after a horse, and as for masks. I don't know of any better idea of hiding your identity than a mask. Do you?" 

Stormy shook her head to Reid's question. 

"And as for companions. Every gangster has his followers, the Green Hornet included. He just apparently prefers to keep his down to one." 

"So the resemblance is completely coincidental," Stormy remarked. She had the feeling that it was anything but. However she knew she would never get Reid to admit it. At least not yet. 

Stormy considered the others in the room. She noticed that the police detective, Morrisey, had been listening very closely to their conversation. He had not made any remarks, but she noticed that his eyes held the same questions that she had. She promised herself that somehow they were going to have to get together to compare notes. 

The others seemed to not have taken much note of their talk. The D.A., the man Stormy would have expected to be extremely interested, seemed to be off in his own world. He was here only for one purpose, the questioning of Christy Isaacs and Sam Sprite. Outside of that, it was like he wasn't even there. 

Frank Scanlon had also taken no interest in their conversation. Instead, he seemed to be more interested in the conversation between Casey, Sam and Christy. Perhaps he had heard the story before and because he knew the Reids so well, he had never made the connection that was forming in Stormy's mind. Or, could it be, Stormy thought, that Frank Scanlon was well acquainted with the connection; that he had been in on the Reid secret for a very long time, perhaps even from the beginning. That, Stormy was more than willing to believe. Scanlon did not strike her as a stupid man. 

Once the normal small talk of getting acquainted was over, the coffee drunk, and the sweet rolls eaten, they settled down to business. Stormy listened as Christy started into her story under Frank Scanlon's questioning. 

"I'm sorry," Christy began, "I didn't realize that I would be hurting anybody. I was stupid. I should've known better than to think doing a porno movie would me get into the movies. It's just that Jake told me that it was going to be all okay. He said that some big producer wanted to see how I performed," Christy hesitated, then continued, "You know there's so much sex in movies today, that you can't be afraid to show your body," she sighed unhappily, "At least that's what Jake said." 

Christy nervously folded and refolded the paper napkin in her hand, not wanting to look the Reids in the eye. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt anybody . . . " 

Casey went over to Christy, knelt beside her and placed her hand over the girl's hands, "Don't worry, dear," she said in a soothing voice, "I know you didn't mean it. You were tricked, just like my husband was." 

"But . . . " Christy said in a stricken voice, "But we . . . You know . . . ," she shrugged, unable to say the words, "How can you forgive me?" she asked. 

"Because I know my husband," Casey answered, "I know the type of man he is. I know I can trust him. I also know that De la Culebra woman, and what she's capable of." 

Christy nodded wordlessly. "Would you feel better if I left?" Casey asked. 

Christy shook her head, "No," she said through a shuddering breath. 

"Are you going to be okay?" Casey asked as if she was talking to her own daughter. 

"Yeah," Christy replied, moving a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. Leaning into Sam's arms, she forced a weak smile, "I'm gonna be okay." Visibly gathering herself, she added, in a quiet voice, "This is the only way I can get rid of the nightmares." Then she said in a firmer voice, anger and determination showing through in equal parts in her face, "I want to get them as bad as you do." 

"Good," Casey said, smiling with satisfaction. "That's the way to go," she added as encouragement. 

Stormy's admiration of Casey went up a few notches as she watched her return to sit by Britt who gave her a quick squeeze of approval. Regardless of her suspicions about the Green Hornet, these were people she had to admire. 

Having received the reassurance she had needed, Christy continued her tale in a strong voice that only shook occasionally. Through it all Sam remained next to her, offering support over the worst parts of the tale. At the end there was a deep silence. Christy had retreated into Sam's arms, like a long distance runner who had finally crossed the finish line. Even though she had already known most of the details, Stormy felt overwhelmed by the reality of what Christy had endured and by the courage it had taken her to tell it. Scanlon and the D.A. had lapsed into thoughtful silence while Morrisey was uncomfortably staring at the pattern in the rug under his feet. 

On the couch, Britt Reid sat staring into the fire with narrowed eyes, his entire body tense as if he was ready to explode into action. Only Casey's hand resting on his knee seemed to anchor him in the present. He slipped one hand over hers, grasping it momentarily with whitened knuckles before relaxing. 

Daring to be the first person to break the silence, Stormy commented, "This should be enough to arrest the De la Culebra woman, and put her away for a very long time." 

She saw a quick look pass between Scanlon and Cheung. "Right?" she demanded. 

Cheung sighed and shook his head regretfully, "Maybe . . . " 

"What do you mean, 'maybe'?" Stormy pressed. "You have Mr. Reid and Christy here . . . " 

"Well, Mr. Reid was drugged . . . " Cheung began. 

"Christy wasn't," Stormy pressed. 

"No, she wasn't, but . . . " 

"But what?" Stormy demanded. 

"You have to understand . . . " 

"Understand what?" 

"Mrs. De la Culebra has some very powerful friends . . . " 

"Like Archer," Britt said distastefully, "He'll hire the best lawyers around. They'll destroy Christy's testimony without any other supporting evidence." 

"How?" Stormy shot at the publisher. 

"They'll say that I paid her off. That I bought her out and engineered her testimony." 

"But . . . " 

"Too bad Gordon is dead," Britt said over Stormy's objection, "He was no prize, but as the weak link in the chain, he could have been used to testify against De la Culebra and maybe even Archer." 

"Archer?" Morrisey asked, "How do you figure him into things?" 

"Shannon's kinky and vicious, her part in the frame is right up her alley, but the kind of complex thinking that went into it isn't her style. Neither were the attacks at the jail and at the safe house. That took influence, power and money. Something she doesn't have." 

"But what Archer has in spades," Sam said bitterly, "He's the expert when it comes to destroying people. Scandal, innuendo, financial hijinks, whatever it takes. As far as he is concerned, the nastier it is, the better." 

Britt nodded his agreement. 

"Too bad we don't at least have the tape," Scanlon said thoughtfully, "With that we might have had something that could force De la Culebra to cooperate and turn on Archer." 

"I doubt that would have happened even with the tape," Britt said thoughtfully, "Archer's sure to get her the best lawyers that money can buy. That is if she doesn't skip the country beforehand." 

"You surprise me, Monsieur Reid," said a voice from the open doorway, "I did not think that you were one to give up so quickly." 

"Le Blanc," Britt said, surprised, "How the hell did you get here?" 

"I was, shall we say, detained by Madame De la Culebra and Monsieur Archer," he explained as he tossed a videotape to Britt. "That, I believe is what you were talking about. Oui?" 

"Yes," Britt said, "How did you get it?" 

"Madame De la Culebra has a fondness for tokens of her conquests. I was able to bring it back with me when I escaped from their somewhat doubtful hospitality. Along with others who were sharing that same 'hospitality'," Le Blanc added. 

"What do you mean by that?" Cheung demanded. 

"Monsieur Archer has your son as well as Monsieur Reid's daughter, Danielle." 

"Is Danielle okay?" Casey asked hopefully. 

"So far, yes," Le Blanc answered. "But maybe not for long." 

"Tommy is okay?" Cheung interrupted. "Where is he? Is he with you?" 

"Tommy is okay, yes, but he is not with me. I barely escaped as it was." 

"So you left my son and the Reids' daughter behind?" Cheung demanded angrily. 

"It was the only thing I could do," Le Blanc said defensively. 

"I should . . . " Cheung began, rounding on the Frenchman who towered over him by several inches. 

"Cheung," Britt said, grabbing at the D.A. "Let's get the facts before you do something foolish." 

Cheung growled, but returned to his seat. 

"Okay, Le Blanc, you mind starting from the beginning?" 

"I fear the beginning will take too long," Le Blanc said, "It is time we do not have. However I will say that if we do not act quickly they will all be dead as well as many, many other people." 

"Explain," Britt demanded sharply. 

"Monsieur Archer along with the man Hakenkrueze is planning on an attack on the Global Commerce Center. They have it arranged so that it will appear to have been engineered by the city's gangs including the Green Hornet. They will use the attack as an excuse to take over the city government, under the guise of bringing order to the chaos. It is only the beginning, I fear, of much worse and on a much grander scale." 

"Just like the information I downloaded from Archer's files," Sam said. "Archer's part of some kind of world wide cabal that is planning on controlling the entire world." 

"Oh come on," Morrisey said in disbelief, "Isn't that something for the comic books?" 

"Whether it is or not," Le Blanc said, "If we do not act quickly, people will die." 

"Mr. Cheung, call police headquarters," Britt said, "Tell them to get as many people at the Global Commerce Center as they can. Also contact the fire department and emergency services, put them on alert in case we don't stop Archer in time." 

"I can't do something on just this guy's say so," Cheung protested. 

"Would you rather have something happen like the World Trade Center?" 

Cheung thought for a few moments, weighing the chance of political suicide if the Frenchman was wrong versus the lives at the Global Commerce Center. 

"There isn't much time," Le Blanc prodded. 

"I'll do it," Cheung said, "Is there a phone around I can use?" he asked Casey, who showed him the phone on Britt's desk. 

While Cheung was using the phone, Britt continued questioning Le Blanc, "You said that Archer has my daughter and Cheung's son . . . " 

"Oui, Danielle is being held by the man called Husky Buske, while Tommy Cheung is being kept at Archer's mansion, as well as the Green Hornet and his man." 

"So Buske has Danielle?" Britt asked. 

"Oui, but not for long. Madame De la Culebra had left Monsieur Archer's mansion a few hours ago for Buske's roadhouse. I believe she will be taking Danielle as insurance. She had agreed earlier with Monsieur Archer to meet him at his yacht, the Gigabyte Queen." 

"I see," Britt said thoughtfully. 

"Archer is also holding a Chinese woman who I believe is some kind of Chinese assassin," Jacques volunteered. 

"Is she masked, dressed all in black?" 

"Oui," Jacques answered. 

"I see," Britt said thoughtfully, "Now about the Green Hornet. You said Archer has him and his man." 

"Oui, they have the car as well. They are planning to leave the Green Hornet and the others at the Global Commerce Center for people to blame." 

"Sam has all of Archer's plans on his computer, including floor plans," Stormy supplied eagerly. 

"Good," Britt replied, "Sam, give them whatever they need. Frank, Detective Morrisey," he said nodding to the two men. 

"We're on it," Frank said as they helped Sam set up his computer. 

"I have some calls to make," Britt said to Casey as he headed for the door, "I'll use the phone downstairs." 

Casey followed him through the door while the others were distracted, "What are you planning?" she asked in a low voice. 

"I have no idea," Britt answered in an equally low voice so as not to catch anyone else's attention, "But something will occur to me once I get to the townhouse." 

"But there's nothing there," Casey replied. She noticed that Le Blanc was watching them curiously. So was Stormy. 

"I'll find what I need there," Britt said confidently. 

"But the Black Beauty is with them," Casey said not sharing his confidence. 

A small smile appeared on Britt's face as an idea occurred to him. "That's what I'm counting on," he said before quickly heading down the stairs. 

Casey stopped Le Blanc as he headed down the stairs after Britt. "You said Danielle was okay," she said, stalling him. "You didn't mention if she was with the others." 

Le Blanc gazed down to where Britt had disappeared to. "She is not with the others," he admitted, "I believe she is with a gentleman by the name of Husky Buske. He, and his gang too, will be at the Global Commerce Center." 

"So Danielle will be there too," Casey said. 

"If we are unlucky." 

"And if we're lucky?" 

"She will not." Le Blanc considered for a moment, then said, "It is not good that Monsieur Reid goes alone. He will need help." 

"I can't stop him," Casey admitted. "And you shouldn't," she added firmly. 

Le Blanc heard the roar of a car drive away. "Perhaps I shouldn't, but he does need my help." 

"And mine, too," Stormy said, catching the tail end of their discussion. She had no intention of being left out of things. "This isn't a job for amateurs," she added in explanation as she quickly took after Le Blanc who was taking the stairs down by twos and threes. 

Stormy barely caught up with the Frenchman as he climbed into a black sports car, "I'm going with you," she said, opening the passenger side door. 

"But mademoiselle," Jacques protested uselessly. 

"I'm the only one who knows what the hell they're doing," she snapped at him as she tightened her seat belt. 

"I seriously doubt that," Jacques answered tightly as he threw the car into gear, "I do not think anyone knows what they are doing, not even Monsieur Archer or Madame De la Culebra. However," he added as the car spun out of the driveway, "I do not think it is stopping anyone." 

Stormy pulled her gun out of her purse and checked it. Jacques shot a quick glance at it, "Do you think that is necessary?" he asked tautly. 

"What do you think?" Stormy asked. 

Jacques nodded thoughtfully, still keeping his eyes on the road. The tail lights of Britt Reid's car was far ahead of them and getting further. "I hope it is not needed, but I fear it will be." 

Britt was traveling a straight course on the interstate from his home to the city, seeming not to be aware that anyone was following him. He was pushing his white Cadillac hard, passing cars as if they were standing still. The Cadillac didn't have the sports car's speed, but Jacques had a hard time keeping up. Britt knew where he was going. They didn't. 

"There!" Stormy said, spotting the Cadillac leave the interstate barely in time. 

Jacques threw the sports car in the Cadillac's wake, leaving several cars behind him honking their horns angrily. "This isn't the closest exit to the Daily Sentinel," he commented. 

"So where is he going?" Stormy asked, even though she knew the Frenchman had no more idea than she did. 

"I don't know," Jacques said, answering her rhetorical question, "And," he said, noticing that Britt Reid was starting to make an effort to lose them, "I don't think he wants us to know either." 

The Cadillac wasn't very maneuverable, but Britt made sure to leave them stuck at every stop light and blind turn he could make. Several times they almost lost him if it hadn't been for Stormy keeping watch while Jacques drove. Suddenly he pulled to a curb and got out of his car. 

He angrily strode to Jacques' side of the car, "What the hell are you doing following me?" he demanded. "I don't have the time to mess with you two. Go back to my house," he ordered. 

"No way," Stormy said, climbing out of the car, "I'm not about to let an amateur endanger everyone. You may think that you're doing the right thing, Mr. Reid, but your actions could endanger the very people you want to help." 

"Amateur!" Reid roared, "Amateur," he gritted in a lowered voice that had lost none of the anger behind it. "Do you honestly think I'm an amateur at this kind of stuff, girl?" Stormy took a few steps back unsurely under his verbal assault. "I have been at this before you were even born. Hell," he continued, his anger barely coming under control, "Hell, I quit long before you were born." 

Stormy stared up at Reid as the truth struck her, "Then you are admitting . . . " 

"You want me to shout it out for the whole god damn city to hear?" Britt growled, "After all these years . . . Hell, why don't we broadcast it? I have a television station that'd do the job just fine." 

"Now, Monsieur Reid . . . ," Jacques said, trying to calm the publisher down. 

"Go back to the house," Britt ordered through clenched teeth. 

"No," Stormy said defiantly. "No matter who or what you are, I'm not going to sit this one out." 

Britt sighed in exasperation. "I don't have time for this. Okay," he said, relenting, "Follow me." He turned away from them to go back to his car, then seeming to change his mind he turned back to Stormy and Jacques. "Would it do me any good to swear you two to secrecy?" he asked. Stormy and Jacques glanced at each other. 

"You have my word that I will not say anything," Jacques volunteered readily. 

"Ms Weathers?" Britt prompted. 

"I..." Stormy began doubtfully. 

"It means not only my life, but that of my entire family . . . " Britt added, the desperation clear in his voice. 

"I promise that I won't do anything that will endanger your family," Stormy finally said. 

"I guess I'll have to be satisfied with that," Britt answered. 

Stormy thoughtfully watched Britt return to his car before sliding into the seat next to Jacques who stayed behind the wheel. 

"Well?" Jacques commented, looking at Stormy. 

"Just drive," Stormy growled at him, not wanting him to know how unsure she was about the promise Britt had exacted from her. If it came between her promise to Reid and her dedication to the law which would she choose? 

Jacques and Stormy followed Britt for several more blocks. It was easier this time, but his twisting path still was enough to leave them unsure where they were when they finally came to a stop in a blind alley. Against a back wall was a tattered billboard showing a man and a woman in a minty kiss beneath the words 'Kissing Candy Mints, How Sweet They Are'. Britt had gotten out of his car and was standing impatiently next to a barely visible opening in one of the walls of the alley. 

"This way," he said curtly as his hand slipped into a hidden niche. An opening appeared and he slid through the gap. 

Stormy glanced at Jacques who merely shrugged, then followed Reid. The walk wasn't far. They went through a narrow passageway that seemed to pass between the walls of the building they had entered. Small lights near the base of the walls lit up as they came up to them and then darkened once they were past. "There's quite a complex of secret passages and hidden rooms that I've never had the chance to explore," Britt explained as he led them down some stairs into a dank basement. "It all used to be part of a gin mill and speak easy operation in the 20's during Prohibition. There might even be an arm that leads to the docks where illegal liquor used to be smuggled in from Canada. I updated everything when I found out that I needed a secret entrance into my townhouse." 

"Why are we going this way now?" Stormy asked. 

"Archer might have people watching the townhouse," Britt answered, "I want to get in and out without anyone seeing us." He stopped at what appeared to be a blank brick wall and pressed one of the bricks. The wall rose silently to reveal a narrow, open-sided elevator cage of stainless steel. Britt entered the cage and turned to face Stormy and Jacques. "There's only enough room for one person at a time," he said, "I'll go first." 

The elevator's metal steps folded up and the cage rose upwards. Stormy released a deep breath that she didn't realize that she had been holding as the cage disappeared into the black gap in the wall. "You seem tense, Mademoiselle Weathers," Jacques remarked wryly. 

"You aren't?" Stormy remarked in cynical disbelief. 

The Frenchman ducked his head with a wry smile. "I have faith that Monsieur Reid knows what he is doing." 

Stormy frowned thoughtfully as she studied Jacques. This was the first quiet moment she had to really look at him. He too, didn't seem all as he appeared. If it wasn't for his accent, which she admitted to herself could have been faked, but doubted, he could have been easily mistaken for a member of the Reid family. He definitely had the height, coming in only an inch or so taller than Britt Reid, and he had the same strong jaw line and unusual eye color. In fact, she noted with surprise, his eyes were almost the same color as Britt's. Oddly coincidental, she thought, but wondered if it was truly a coincidence. The only difference, besides the accent that is, was that he was much slighter in build, more like an acrobat or long distance runner instead of being as squarely broad as Reid or his son. 

Jacques met her appraising look head on with a self-deprecating smile, "Does something interest you, Mademoiselle?" 

"Are you related to the Reids'?" Stormy ventured. 

"Perhaps, Mademoiselle, perhaps," he replied teasingly. 

The elevator arrived just as Stormy was thinking of a good retort. "Your turn, Mademoiselle," Jacques said with a continental bow and sweep of his hand. 

Stormy nervously grasped the bars on the side of the elevator as it rose upward into the darkness. The single light near the top of the elevator didn't help her impending claustrophobia as the open-sided cage passed between brick sided walls that seemed to threaten to squeeze in on her at any moment. 

The trip was very short, only a few minutes, but by the end Stormy was ready to claw her way through the brick walls that surrounded her when the elevator finally stopped. After what seemed like an eternity, the wall in front her finally opened into a darkened room. Stormy pulled her gun out, ready for anything. 

"You can put that away, Ms Weathers," Britt said drily. 

She looked quickly around the room then stepped down the metal steps that had unfolded down. Britt straightened some tilted books in the bookcase against a far wall and the elevator slid downwards as a fireplace slid into place. "Nice trick," Stormy commented as she put her gun away. 

"We'll get moving as soon as Le Blanc gets here," Britt said. 

"Do you think we're going to make it?" Stormy asked trying to fill up the time while they waited for Le Blanc. 

"I wish I knew," Britt answered. "We may have some luck though." 

"How?" 

"There's going to be thousands of people celebrating at the Spring Festival tonight . . . " 

"Doesn't sound lucky to me," Stormy commented. 

"That's not the lucky part. The lucky part is that I heard earlier today that a storm front may be coming in over the lake tonight. If we're lucky, maybe it'll come in early enough to shut down the festival before Archer and Hakenkrueze's people hit. That would at least help cut down some of the loss in life, or possibly even effect their plans so much that they'd fail." 

"Think it's likely?" 

"I wish I knew the answer to that," Britt said doubtfully. 

"Ahh, good," Britt said, hearing a warbling tone, "Le Blanc's in." He tilted down some books in the bookcase and the fireplace rose to reveal the secret elevator with Le Blanc in it. 

The Frenchman stepped down and then watched appreciatively as the fireplace slid back down. "Most clever, Monsieur Reid," he said. 

"Thanks," Britt answered curtly, "Follow me," he added, leaving the study. 

Stormy and Jacques followed Britt as he walked quickly out of the study, through a sunken livingroom and up a short flight of steps into a foyer. Britt opened a door in the foyer and lead them down some stairs into a large garage and workshop. Stormy shot Jacques a questioning look which he returned with a shrug. 

Britt knew exactly what he was doing, but didn't bother enlightening them. Instead he went over to a pegboard on the wall of the workshop and twisted a wrench sideways. A small door opened to reveal a set of ready lights and switches. Britt pressed one of the switches and a portion of the wall rotated to show a collection of weapons and gadgets. Among them was a pair of slender green guns, a case containing several throwing darts, gas masks, and nunchuks of various designs. 

"Not quite what one expects in a newspaper publisher's house, Oui?" Jacques commented to Stormy with the lift of an eyebrow. 

"You don't say," Stormy commented under her breath. 

Britt shot her a quick look as a comment of his own, mirroring Jacques' eyebrow lift at the same time. He pulled out a small gold colored box out of a drawer. On it were some lights, switches and toggles. 

"What is that?" Stormy asked curiously. 

Britt looked at her with a gleam in his cool blue eyes, "Our ace in the hole." 

IV 

Archer had an excellent view of the Global Commerce Center from the Gigabyte Queen's main salon. Festive strings of lights decorated every building that fronted onto the large Global Commerce plaza. Colorful banners snapped sharply in the rising wind and the pavilions that filled the plaza billowed against their moorings, but the hundreds of partygoers were not disturbed by the sudden cool weather. 

It was normal for this time of the year and everyone was warmly dressed in fur coats and down jackets. Restaurants and cafes facing onto the plaza also provided warm havens against the chill. The Spring Festival was the one of the first major events of the Season. No one was going to miss it because there was a little wind and the air a bit cool. 

The Global Commerce Center was the place to be if you were important or wanted to be considered important. It was the result of a multimillion dollar effort to resurrect the city's badly decaying port where the river emptied into the Great Lakes. Decades ago ships by the thousands used to sail into the port, transporting cargo to and from all over the world, including the output from the city's heavy industries, into the heartland of the United States. 

Those days were no more. The heavy industry was almost all gone now. Only a few factories still remained where there used to be hundreds. There were other faster, cheaper ways to move cargo now and what traffic there was rarely came through the port that was too shallow for modern super-sized ships. In time the port became a cesspool of crime and decay. 

Even though the days of heavy industry were dead, there was a new product to be transported. The product of information and money. The heart of the city began beating to the tune of the market ticker and the computer. Grand old apartment buildings and stately but decaying townhouses of the city's early days were being rediscovered and renovated into luxurious new homes by young professionals who'd rather live downtown than battle hour long treks into the city. 

Taking advantage of this renewed interest in downtown living; the wharves, and warehouses that lined the port were transformed into trendy shops, expensive dining spots, and spacious condos and offices that fetched millions on the market. The old docks themselves had been transformed into a water sports playground and an exclusive marina where only the most rich could berth their floating palaces such Archer's Gigabyte Queen. 

The Global Commerce Center had become the power center of the city's business world. To be considered 'somebody' you had to have an office at the GCC. Archer himself had a large suite of offices at the Global Commerce Center, but he would not grieve losing them when the center was destroyed. The heavily insured paintings that decorated the offices had been discretely replaced months ago with skillful forgeries. He would make a killing in more ways than one. 

Archer's yacht rocked slightly at it sat at its mooring, but the waiter pouring the champagne into Archer's glass did not spill a drop of it. "Are you sure you don't want some?" he asked Hakenkrueze who was standing in front of the window. Hakenkrueze shook his head without answering. "Relax," Archer said, "Everything is falling into place very nicely." 

Hakenkrueze turned to face Archer. "You are becoming too confident," he said to the billionaire. 

"Why shouldn't I?" Archer retorted. "All the stray ends have been tied up. All of your men are in place. There is nothing to worry about. Nothing at all." 

"What about Reid?" Hakenkrueze asked sharply. "And what about this Sam Sprite and that Isaacs girl? Do you have idea where they are?" 

"Reid can't do a thing in time to stop us," Archer answered. "And as for that traitor Sprite or the girl . . . " Archer shrugged, "Who cares? They're little people, minor players. They're no danger to us." 

"Sprite knows too much," Hakenkrueze persisted, "Who knows what kind of information he had access to before he disappeared." 

"My computer system's security is infallible. There is no way that Sprite could have broken into it before he took off. Even if he had, there was nothing in it that could damage us." 

V 

Husky Buske glared at Danielle when he saw that she had left the food on her plate nearly uneaten. "Not good enough for you?" he demanded. 

"I'm not very hungry," Danielle answered trying to keep her stomach from rebelling against those few bites she had dared. 

"You haven't eaten since before we picked you up," Husky growled at the girl. "I know damn well you're starvin'." 

Danielle frowned. She was tired of the whole business of trying to placate the tough motorcyclist. Manners were totally lost on him. "Okay, if you got to know, I don't much care for an order of grease served with a side of grease. Don't you have something edible?" 

"Like what?" growled Husky, "You want some rabbit food?" 

"Rabbit food would be better than this stuff. No wonder you sell so much liquor. It's the only thing that can wash that stuff down. Have to have some kind of solvent just to break up the grease so it can be swallowed." She nodded at the bottle near Husky's elbow. "That's about all that it's good for." 

"Now, wait a minute, your royal highness, that's the best stuff we got. It's imported straight from Canada." 

"Yeah, and whose bathtub in Canada did it come from?" 

"What do you want me to do? Call up Chez Pierre and ask them pretty please to deliver some Escargot and a bottle of Chateau Lafitte?" 

"How about Pizza Hut for a salad and a bottle of Coke? Or would that be too high class for this joint?" Danielle retorted. "I even have a few bucks in my purse if you can't handle the cost. That is if one of your thugs hasn't stolen it." 

"I got plenty of money," Husky answered her, "I don't steal nothin' from some dame's purse." 

"If you have so much money why are you in Hakenkrueze's back pocket?" 

"How'd you know about him?" Husky demanded, not bothering to deny it. 

"Remember that tall skinny blonde guy your men tried to beat up? He works for my father at the Daily Sentinel. He told my father everything he saw at your place, including Hakenkrueze." 

"Oh, yeah, the guy who drove off in the Green Hornet's car," Husky said, remembering, "That was a nice trick . . . " 

_Damn_, Danielle thought. The last thing she wanted to do was have Husky make a connection between the Sentinel and the Green Hornet. She said instead, "Yeah, Ed thought so too. He couldn't stop bragging how he drove the Hornet's car. My Dad said it was too bad he didn't get an interview with the man. He might have gotten the front page then. But what about this Hakenkrueze guy?" she asked, changing the subject. "If you're so well off, why are you dealing with him, then? Or did you fall for that super race b.s. of his?" 

Husky snorted with disgust, "Hell, no, that stuff's for suckers." 

"Then why?" 

"'Cause if I don't I'm gonna get wiped out with all the other gangs when the guys Hakenkrueze is helpin' take over." 

"Do you honestly believe that?" Danielle asked, "I didn't think you were that dumb." 

"All the others do," Husky said defensively, uncomfortable with the fact that Danielle was voicing the very doubts he had been having recently. 

"Are you sure?" Danielle pressed. "What would happen if none of you helped Hakenkrueze? Would he succeed then?" 

Husky frowned thoughtfully. "Nah," he said, "He doesn't have the manpower . . . " 

"I bet he's planning on the gangs doing all the dirty work for him and then taking all the credit for cleaning up the mess they make." 

Husky gritted his teeth. Danielle was more right than he cared to admit. Even to himself. "So what do you suggest?" he growled at her. "Sit on the sidelines and hang around for Hakenkrueze and his buddies to get rid of us?" 

"No," Danielle said thoughtfully, starting to understand the thrill her father got when dealing with the criminal mind. "Why don't you take care of him first?" 

"Oh, yeah, sure. That guy has all kinds of high tech weapons. We'd be ground up like cheap hamburger goin' head to head with him." 

"Who said you have to?" Danielle answered. "I'm sure you're smart enough to figure out a way to out think that muscle-headed Nazi." 

A slow grin lit across Husky face, "Yeah, I think I'm gettin' me an idea after all." 

"Hey, Husky," interrupted one of Husky's men as he opened the door, "There's a dame to see ya." 

"Who?" Husky demanded, looking at Danielle with a guilty look as if he had been caught with his hands in the cookie jar. 

"That red head who hangs around with that computer guy. What's his name . . . ?" 

"Archer," Husky growled. 

"It must be Shannon de la Culebra," Danielle said from behind him. 

"Stay out of it," Husky warned her in a low voice, "I'll handle it." 

Shannon pushed her way into Husky's office, "Mr. Buske, darling. It's such a pleasure to finally meet you," she said insincerely, as she pecked him on both cheeks, "Anthony has told me so much about you." 

Husky noted that two of Hakenkrueze's storm troopers were covering the door behind the red head. They looked like they were itching to use the machine guns that they held lightly in their hands. Husky's men seemed to be busy with the pool tables, but the grim looks they occasionally shot at the storm troopers showed it was more of an uneasy truce. 

"Do you have everything ready?" Shannon asked. 

"Yeah, almost," Husky replied, "Although I'm startin' to wonder how this is all supposed to work out. I don't want one of Hakenkrueze's bully boys decide it'd be cheaper to wipe me and my men out 'accidentally' instead of paying us off like we agreed." 

Shannon grinned at him at if he was an idiot child, "Now don't you worry about those things. We have everything well under control. You just do what you're supposed to do and we'll worry about the rest." 

"Well," Husky said, "Maybe I oughta discusses that with Hakenkrueze . . . " 

"He's far too busy," Shannon said, "That's why I'm here. I going to take Miss Reid off your hands. After all I'm sure you have better things to do . . . " 

"I don't know," Husky said, "I kind of like havin' her around. She's kind of easy on the eyes, if you know what I mean," he added with a knowing grin, "'Sides she might come in handy." Husky's eyes narrowed to tiny slits, "I might find I need some kind of insurance policy. Get the drift, Red?" 

Shannon frowned. Her angry reply was cut off by the ringing of her cell phone. She listened in silence as Archer told her what had happened and that the attack had been moved up to that night. Smiling with satisfaction, Shannon put her phone back into her purse. The Frenchman, Jacques Le Blanc might have gotten away, but it didn't matter. He was merely a minor player of no importance. She agreed with Archer's belief that it was likely that Le Blanc was well on his way out of the country. All in all, no damage had been done. It especially pleased her that the timetable had been moved up. It wasn't good to dawdle when it came to dealing with the Green Hornet, even if it was the younger edition. 

For a moment she felt the chilling breeze of doubt flash through her. It wasn't good that the elder Reid was out of jail. He could still be a problem. She shook her hair, throwing off her feelings of unease. Britt Reid might have escaped the frame up, but they still had his daughter, and his son was on his way into history as a mass murderer. 

"Well?" Husky prompted impatiently. 

"Plans have changed. Get your men together and notify the other gang leaders. The attack on the Global Commerce Center is going to be tonight." 

"But you can't," Danielle protested, "The Spring Festival's tonight. There will be hundreds of innocent people there." 

"No matter, it will only make the impact of the attack greater," Shannon said uncaringly. 

"I don't like it," Husky said, "There's gonna be tons of cops there. Besides, we didn't sign up to hurt a bunch of civilians. All we was gonna do was have ourselves some fun by tearin' up some buildings and startin' a few fires. That's all." 

"My dear Husky, you have no vision," Shannon purred dangerously, "Consider the impact. The deaths of innocent civilians is going to be so much more effective than the mere destruction of a few buildings." 

"Yeah, but . . . " Husky began, Shannon's words erasing all of his remaining doubts about what Danielle had said. The plans of Hakenkrueze and company were now crystal clear in his mind. 

Shannon's eyes grew cold, "You and your men are being well paid . . . " 

"Yeah, money's good, but the law is gonna be on our asses after this. There's no place in this world where we're gonna be able to hide. The whole idea stinks like hell." 

"Don't worry about the law," Shannon replied, the warm purr returning to her voice. "After tonight we will be the law. Those who have cooperated with us will be protected. After all people will still want all those illicit little pleasures that they love even if they do scream for more protection from the criminal element at the same time. You will be there to provide them without all that nasty competition you used to have to deal with. We'll even give you, shall we say, favored treatment, while putting on the show of dealing quite harshly with those who do not cooperate with us." 

"In other words, the same old same old. Just with a new face," Husky replied cynically. 

"Exactly." 

"So when and where?" Husky asked. 

"Oh, let's say about in about three hours," she replied airily, "At the corner of 16th and Lakeview Drives." 

"Won't give us much time to get everybody together," Husky said thoughtfully. 

"I have faith in you," Shannon said as she prepared to leave, trying not to look like she was in a hurry. Even though she had faith that Archer's plan would succeed, she would rather hear about it while she was safely out of the country. After all, one never knew. Shannon's first priority was always Shannon. 

"What're you going to do with the Reid girl?" 

Shannon paused and considered his question. Time was quickly running out, but . . . It was always a good idea to have an insurance policy. "I'm still going to need to take her off your hands," she said, "She might come in useful later when it comes to dealing with her father." 

"Well, if you put it that way," Husky said thoughtfully, "Maybe I oughta keep her here then. Just in case." 

Shannon frowned, then forced a beguiling smile, "Now, my dear, dear Husky, you surely don't want to do that. After all you and your men are going to be so very busy. Too busy to look after her. Somebody might come along and rescue her and then where would we be?" 

"I could leave somebody . . . " 

"No, that just wouldn't do," Shannon said, "You know as well as I that Reid has all kinds of resources." 

"Yeah, maybe," Husky said, turning stubborn. The more Shannon wanted the girl, the more, he decided, he wanted her too. 

Shannon gestured to one of the guards Hakenkrueze had assigned to her. He was a good foot taller than Husky and twice as large. All muscle and to Shannon's annoyance, no humor, but he did have his uses. Shannon's smile turned nasty, "I'm sure that Oleg here would be most displeased if you chose to disagree with me." Noticing that Husky's blue-white eyes still held a stubborn glint to them, she added, "There are others who are willing to cooperate with us if you decide not to." 

"Damn it," Husky cursed. "All right," he growled, "Take her." 

"Husky . . . " Danielle protested as Shannon's guards surrounded her. 

"We all gotta do what we gotta do, girl," Husky growled at her. "You gotta go with her, we gotta attack the Global Commerce Center and a buncha helpless people." 

"Glad to see that you see things my way," Shannon said smoothly as she followed her men out the door. 

"I'm startin' to," Husky muttered grimly into his heavy beard. 

VI 

Nobody paid much attention to the armored car as it headed for the Global Commerce Center. It was just like any other that regularly travel the city streets. If anyone took not of the lateness of the hour, it was dismissed as a late run from some store to a bank. 

People however, were more interested in the truck that followed closely behind it. On its long bed was a large car covered with a tarp that reached down past its wheels. A few stray pedestrians stared curiously at it as it passed as did the drivers in the cars that shared the road with it. No one could have guessed that the trailer carried the Green Hornet's Black Beauty. 

In the armored car, Kato stared longingly at the truck behind them. The Black Beauty was so close and yet so far. Her rockets, her speed, she was the way out of their predicament, but unfortunately completely out of his reach. He glanced over at Tommy Cheung who had not spoken a word since they were loaded into the armored car. Resigned to whatever fate lay ahead of them, Cheung sat dejectedly with bowed shoulders across from him, not looking at anything in particular, lost inside of himself in his misery. 

Hui Ying was different. She had not accepted her fate at all and was complaining about it bitterly to the Green Hornet. "We should not have surrendered," she said. 

The Green Hornet sighed tiredly. "Why don't you give it a rest," he said. "You've been harping on it the entire trip." 

"It was cowardly to submit," Hui Ying persisted. "It would have been more honorable to die fighting than to be pawns in this Archer's crazy scheme." 

"Unlike you," the Green Hornet answered. "I figure as long as I'm alive there's a chance." 

"For what?" Hui Ying demanded. "Our hands are tied. Our opponents have machine guns. I don't have my sword. What chance is there? Are you expecting someone to come riding over the ridge to rescue us like in one of your silly Westerns?" 

The Green Hornet shrugged. "You never know," he answered. 

Hui Ying snorted and retreated into the corner behind her back, "I want my sword," she said to no one in particular. 

Kato stared out at the canvas covered Black Beauty. _I want my car,_ he thought. 

Shannon de la Culebra glared out of her limousine, then angrily snapped on the intercom to speak to the driver. "You took the wrong exit. We're heading the wrong way," she said, "We should be going west away from the city, not east back toward it." 

"Sorry Ma'am," said the guard in the Red Knight uniform, "Change in orders. General Hakenkrueze wants you to meet him and Mr. Archer at Archer's yacht." 

"General?" Shannon gave a brief derisive laugh, "So Hakenkrueze has now made himself a general? Of what? A shadow army led by a tin soldier . . . " 

"We are not shadows," the guard replied tersely, "We are simply waiting for our orders. Once General Hakenkrueze gives the word we will come out of hiding and fight for the cause." 

"How nice for you all," Shannon replied cynically, "If you don't mind I'd rather be out of town when the fireworks start. Driver, take the next exit and head for the airport like I told you in the first place." 

"Sorry, Can't do that," the guard said, "That would be against our orders." 

"I have a plane waiting . . . " 

"We are aware of that. The pilot has been notified of the flight's cancellation." 

"Now look here . . . " Shannon began. 

"I'm sorry, but orders . . . " 

"I don't want to hear 'sorry', do as I say," Shannon hissed. 

"No can do," the guard replied, snapping off the intercom without another word. 

Shannon sat back into the soft leather seat with a curse, "Damn it." 

"It looks like Hakenkrueze figured you'd try to make a break for it," Danielle observed from her seat next to Shannon. 

Shannon glared angrily at her, "He doesn't have the sense God gave a walnut. That bastard's ego is going to destroy us all." 

"Don't you have any faith in his and Archer's plans?" Danielle asked sarcastically. 

"Not one damn bit," Shannon said. "Megalomaniacs are notoriously short lived. They have absolutely no sense when it comes to the practical." 

"Unlike your plan to frame my father?" Danielle asked. 

"That wasn't entirely my plan," Shannon protested. "All I wanted to do was to get a little leverage over your old man. But, no, Archer had to blow it all out of proportion. I could have told him that the whole idea of taking over your precious little paper wasn't going to work. No, all I had in mind was a little bit of blackmail." 

"My father would have never consented to blackmail . . . " 

"It wouldn't have been for money, my dear," Shannon replied nastily. "All I wanted was to establish a nice little mutual non-aggression pact. We'd keep the film under wraps and your old man would keep the Green Hornet out of our hair." 

"What does my father have to do with the Green Hornet?" Danielle asked. 

Shannon frowned at the younger woman, "Please, my dear, don't play stupid with me. I know all about your family's little secret. When you know a man intimately as I have, you get to know all kinds of things." 

Danielle turned away from Shannon to stare out the car window. 

"Getting too uncomfortable for you?" Shannon said nastily. "No matter what happens tonight, I will still know what I know about your father." 

"And you'll use that knowledge to get whatever you want," Danielle said thoughtfully, not turning to face Shannon. 

"Of course," Shannon replied, "I use whatever I need to get whatever I want." 

"So you don't really care at all about Mr. Archer or his plans." 

"Only as far as they get me," Shannon admitted coldly, "And no further." 

"And when he no longer serves your needs, or if somebody more powerful comes along, you'll discard him." 

"Exactly," Shannon agreed, adding nastily, "Just like yesterday's news." Shannon tilted her head, studying Danielle's profile. She made a tsking noise, "My child, you are far too naive for your own good. That's the way of the world. There are always those who seek power, and we women," Shannon sighed dramatically, "Well, it's our sad fate to subject to their every whim. We have to do whatever is necessary to survive." Shannon reached over to pat Danielle's knee. "You'll see, my dear, you'll see." Then added with the same simpering smile, "If you live long enough." 

Danielle turned to face Shannon, feeling a cold chill of fear run down her back, "You're nuts." 

"No, my dear," Shannon replied, "Practical." 

"What are we going to do with that gadget?" Stormy asked Britt as they followed his directions to downtown. They had left the black sports car in the alleyway and were now riding in Reid's Cadillac. Jacques was driving with Reid in the passenger seat beside him. Stormy was leaning against the back of Reid's seat, looking over his shoulder. 

"Don't you think you should buckle up?" Britt asked her. 

"I'm not twelve," Stormy reminded him testily. 

"Mademoiselle," Jacques remarked, "I do not think anyone could mistake you for a twelve year old. However, perhaps Monsieur Reid is right. One never knows what might happen." 

"Let me worry about it," Stormy said to the Frenchman, "Now about that gadget," she said to Britt, "How is that supposed to help us fight an army of Nazis and gangsters." 

Britt slid a small button on the side of the golden box. A blinking green light came on as a soft beeping tone started filling the air. "It's a remote control for the Black Beauty," he explained, "As we get closer to it the tone will become more rapid and the light will blink faster . . . " 

"And once we get close enough to the car?" Stormy asked. 

"That'll depend on the situation. The Black Beauty is fully armed including rockets and sleeping gas." 

"But how will a single car help us fight an army?"Stormy asked, "This isn't the 60's you know. Those guys will have things like rocket launchers and stuff. Your car will be toast if it gets hit by one of those." 

"I'm not intending to fight an army," Britt answered, "All I want to do is use the Beauty to create a diversion. It'll give us a chance to free the others." 

"And then?" 

"And then we're going after Archer and Hakenkrueze." 

"What about the army?" 

"I'm hoping that Cheung and Scanlon will be able to mobilize enough people to take care of them." 

"It's hopeless," Stormy commented grimly. 

"Maybe, but if we get Archer and Hakenkrueze I think it'll be a safe bet that their army will stand down." 

"I don't know," Stormy said, "I just don't know." 

"Do you have any better ideas?" Britt asked her pointedly. 

Stormy shook her head. "No," she said regretfully. 

"What about you?" Britt demanded of Jacques. 

Jacques shrugged, "Non, monsieur. I have no better ideas." A small tight smile slid across his handsome face, "I am only here to serve at your pleasure. Tell me what you need to be done, and I will do it." 

Britt's brows rose at Jacques remark, "And if you decide differently?" 

"You will be the first to know." Catching Britt's frown of disapproval, Jacques added, "Circumstances change. One must be flexible. Sometimes one's plans must be changed as the situation demands." 

"Does that include on whose side you're on?" Britt demanded. 

"Non," Jacques said, "I am always on my side." 

"What about mine?" Britt asked. 

Jacques glanced away from the road ahead of them. He grew very serious. "Your side will be always be mine, mon Pere." he added very quietly. "It is a matter of blood and honor." 

Britt blinked a few times as he took in the meaning of Jacques' words. He turned his eyes to the golden box in his hands, "Good," he said in a low voice. 

"Uh . . . " Stormy said to Jacques, "Does that mean that you and him . . . " 

"It is a long story, Mademoiselle Stormy," Jacques smiled to lighten the mood, and added, "Perhaps over a glass of wine and dinner, I will explain it to you, if you permit." 

"Yeah, sure," Stormy said as she sat back into her seat. It was a night of a lot of surprises for her. Maybe too much to take in at one time. 

"Monsieur Reid," Jacques said to Britt as the beeping sound became more rapid, "I think we are hotter, oui?" 

At the staging area few blocks north of the Global Commerce Center Colonel Jefferson Heinrich paced impatiently in front of his armored Humvee at the corner of 16th and Lakeview. "Colonel Heinrich," said one of his men after giving him a stiff armed salute, "Buske has not yet arrived, sir." 

Heinrich snapped a return salute, then replied, "I would have been surprised if he had been on time. Inferiors like him have no discipline whatsoever. That is why we are the superior race. The final victory has already been foreordained to be ours." 

"Then why are we using them?" his man asked. 

Heinrich frowned darkly, "Are you questioning your superiors?" 

"No, sir," the man rapidly replied, cringing inwardly at his error, "I only wish to understand our glorious leader's plan. So that I might follow its design without error." 

"Of course," Heinrich answered, not mollified, already planning on making sure that the man would be on the front lines of the attack. "It's quite simple. Inferiors like Buske's gang and the others will create havoc and destruction, acting as canon fodder to draw the fire of the police and the attention of the public. At the proper moment we will move in, kill any surviving gang members and thus be hailed as the city's saviors while showing the failure of the police and through them the failure of the city's elected officials. Thus will the 6th Reich begin," he said finishing grandly, overtaken by his own eloquence. 

He frowned seeing that his man, instead of being properly impressed was staring past him in shock. A harsh voice growled in his ear as he felt the cold steel of a pistol muzzle press against his neck, "I kinda of figured that was your plan, soldier-boy." 

Heinrich spun around finding himself glaring into Husky's uncanny blue-white eyes. Behind the motorcycle gang leader was a massive black man who dwarfed the flannel jacketed Hispanic man and a nattily dressed oriental standing next to him. Husky grinned, "I guess we ain't as inferior as you thought." 

"Pig!" Heinrich screamed, struggling to pull his gun out of his holster. "Attack!" 

Husky slapped him down with the butt of his gun. Heinrich scrambled to his knees. A shot past his ear stopped his grasping for his gun. "Put your hands up nice 'n' easy," Husky sneered, "Or you'll find out how hard it is to hear without an ear. Now put your hands up," he gritted as he motioned with his gun. 

"So, guys," he said to the men behind him, "Convinced?" 

"Damn right," the black man answered as the others nodded. 

The oriental was already speaking into the cell phone in his hand. Gunfire started erupting a few streets down. "The trap has been sprung on the trapper," the oriental said grimly. 

The Hispanic and black man nodded their agreement before heading to their own cars. More gunfire started filling the chilly night air. Husky turned his attention to Heinrich's man who had raised his arms in surrender. "You got a line to Hakenkrueze?" 

"Yes," the man answered, motioning with a nod to the walkie-talkie at his hip. 

Unaware of the battle on the opposite side of the Global Commerce Center Major Schmidt watched uneasily as the Black Beauty was unloaded from the trailer. He should have been feeling the thrill of satisfaction of a well-executed plan coming together. Everything that Hakenkrueze and the APP had been working on for so many years was finally coming to fruition. The gleaming new eagles on his shoulders were a sign that they no longer had to hide in the shadows like some foolishly childish cult. All their war games, all their drills and practices had come to an end. Tonight it was for real. As real as the sword that he had taken as a trophy from the Chinese woman. 

Yet, he did not feel that victory was within reach as the Green Hornet, his man, the D.A.'s son and the Chinese woman were herded out of the armored car. They were taken to the mouth of a parking garage. The garage was guarded by one of their Red Knight men. It was filled with the cars of people who come to the center for the Spring Festival. The Black Beauty would be driven into the garage to be found later with the Green Hornet and the others in the rubble after the explosives set in the garage had gone off. 

The Green Hornet glanced at Schmidt as he passed and then at the Black Beauty. No words were spoken, but Schmidt knew that the masked man had not yet acknowledged his defeat. Schmidt caught himself feeling that victory was still far from being assured. 

Schmidt's uneasy thoughts were interrupted by the big, black car purring to a stop a few feet in front of him. The driver stepped out and saluted him with a precise snap of an upraised fist and snap click of the heels. Schmidt returned the salute, making sure that it was as precise as the lower-ranking man's. It wouldn't do for a superior officer to look sloppy. One never knew who reported what to whom. 

Walking slowly around the powerful car, his fingers touching its smooth metal surface, Schmidt felt saddened by the thought that it would soon be destroyed as part of their plan to blame the night's coming havoc on the Green Hornet. It would have made a grand prize of war, he thought, but like all of them, it was merely something to be used and consumed ruthlessly, a pawn in the larger, grander scheme of things. 

Suddenly Schmidt jumped back in alarm as the car's engine revved up in a dragon-like roar. There was no one at the wheel, but the car started moving forward. Schmidt ran for driver's side door and tried to pull it open. He couldn't, it was locked. The car continued to roll slowly forward, passing the armored car, until it came to a stop. Schmidt's surprise turned to wide-eyed panic. The car's parking lights folded down to reveal twin banks of rockets. 

"Run!" Schmidt screamed at the men in the armored personnel carrier parked across from the Black Beauty. 

Too late. A pair of rockets flashed out in a blaze of blinding light, skimming a path for the carrier. Men scattered as the rockets struck the carrier. Schmidt dove for cover as people began firing in retaliation at the black car. Bullets hit the car, but bounced uselessly off. Schmidt covered his head and ran for the armored car as ricochets off the bulletproof car bit at the asphalt near his feet. Men were running everywhere. What had once been a well-ordered exercise had turned into utter chaos. 

"Stop firing!" he screamed into his walkie-talkie. Stand down! You're shooting at our own people!" He received no answer, just static. 

Schmidt dodged and nearly tripped as a man running near him screamed and fell, struck down by a bullet fired by one of their own. Barely recovering his balance, Schmidt nearly lost it again when he found himself staring in the Chinese girl's grim, dark eyes. "You have something of mine," she hissed. 

Schmidt gaped in his amazement, all thought of the bullets flying around him completely forgotten. It was like they were caught in a gap in time where only the two of them existed. "How, how," he sputtered, "How did you get free?" 

A small, tight smile grew across the woman's face, as she held up still intact plastic "Did you really think such things would be able to bind one such as I; one to whom even walls are not a barrier?" She nodded at the sword hanging at Schmidt's side. "Give it to me." 

Schmidt gingerly pulled the sword out of the scabbard he had jury-rigged out of rope and handed it to the woman. The last thing he saw was the glimmer of sword's gleaming steel in her dark eyes as it sliced through him. With a small gasp of protest, Schmidt slid to the ground, sliced in two as neatly as a hot knife through cheese. 

"Nice job," the Green Hornet growled sarcastically as he came up to Hui Ying. "You should have at least given a him a chance . . . " 

"To do what?" she demanded, "To shoot us in the back?" She snorted derisively, "Your softness with your opponents will kill you." 

"How many deaths are enough?" he answered. "How many can your soul endure until there are so many that their mere weight will drag you down to hell?" 

"I am going to hell, anyway," Hui Ying answered as she placed her sword into its sheath behind her back, "At least I will have an honor guard to accompany me there." 

A Nazi uniformed body went flying past them as Kato landed on his feet as neatly as a ballerina. "You mind discussing philosophy somewhere else?" he gasped before turning to high kick another attacker. 

Somebody had gotten word out to stop firing, so that bullets were no longer flying around them, but Schmidt's men had recovered enough from their initial panic to realize that their captives were getting away. Kato had taken out those closest to them, but others were on their way. 

"Get these damned things off me!" Kato demanded of Hui Ying as he turned around, showing his still bound hands, "We have to get out of here before more of these guys show up!" 

"No," Hui Ying answered, "I think not." She grabbed Tommy who had been waiting in the garage's open doorway, not knowing what to do next. "I have what I came for. I have no more need for you." 

"Wait, Hui Ying," Kato shouted at her retreating back, "Cut us loose." 

Hui Ying turned and paused. "Be thankful that I do not cut you in two," she replied coldly before turning away. Tommy paused for a moment, mournfully regarding them, but turned away without a word at Hui Ying's urging. 

"Forget her," the Green Hornet said as he knelt next to Schmidt's body. "I think I can grab his knife." With his hands tied behind his back, the Green Hornet struggled for the ceremonial dagger at the Nazi's side. His fingers slipped in the Major's blood as he tried to pull the knife out of its scabbard. 

"Hurry!" Kato urged. More of the Nazis were heading for them. 

"I'm trying," the Green Hornet answered through clenched teeth. He had the knife out of the scabbard, but the blood-covered hilt slipped in his gloved fingers. 

"We're running out of time . . . " Bullets zinged over their heads. 

As if in answer to an unspoken prayer, a green gas started coming out of the front of the Black Beauty. 

"Looks like we have an angel watching over us," the Green Hornet remarked tersely. Finally the tip of his fingers caught under the dagger's ivory hilt, "Just a bit more . . . , Got it!" the Green Hornet said. "Get closer," he said to Kato, as holding the dagger precariously in his hand. 

Some of the Nazis had fallen unconscious from the Black Beauty's Hornet gas, but others were keeping their distance, deciding that it was better to fire into the thick fog instead of trying physically to recapture their prisoners. 

Kato gave a light cough. The rising wind was starting to blow the green gas back toward them. "You almost have it," he said as he felt the dagger's blade bite into the strong plastic encircling his wrists. Finally pieces of plastic fell free. 

Kato grabbed the dagger from the Green Hornet and sliced quickly through his bonds. He was starting to feel the effects of the sleeping gas and could see that it was affecting the Green Hornet as well. 

"We have to get to the car," the Green Hornet said, as he shakily rose to his feet. 

Kato nodded, feeling the ground sway under his feet. 

The Black Beauty's front and back doors opened as they came to them. Kato was barely aware of sliding behind the wheel or the fact that the doors closed on their own as soon as they were in. 

Kato was not even aware of how he had managed to turn on the interior blowers, but their soft hiss told him that they were scrubbing the air of the green sleeping gas. It took several moments for the gas to clear and for the supplemental oxygen system to overcome its effects. 

"How do you feel?" the Green Hornet asked, as Kato felt his head slowly start to clear. 

"Okay," Kato replied. Then shook his head, still trying to get the fog out from behind his eyes. "I think." 

"How's your head?" the Green Hornet asked. 

"It feels like somebody's been using it for a bass drum. Just like yours." 

The Green Hornet nodded his agreement. 

"Why didn't that side effect ever get taken care of?" Kato asked the Green Hornet. 

"It helps people remember the Green Hornet. I guess." 

"Yeah, right." 

"I've heard that you develop a resistance to it after a while." 

"How long?" 

"Damned if I know." 

Kato sighed, shook his head again, then stopped. It hurt too much. "Where are we going?" he asked as he put the Black Beauty into gear. 

"Archer's yacht. That's where he and Hakenkrueze will be," the Green Hornet replied. 

"Why do you think they will be there?" Kato asked curiously. 

"Archer's nuts enough to want to see the attack on the Global Commerce Center with his own eyes. I can't think of a better place than from his yacht in the GCC marina." 

Kato nodded his agreement. "Sounds about right," he commented. "What about our 'angel'?" 

The Green Hornet's eyes searched the buildings near them as the Black Beauty moved past the harmless gunfire of what few Nazis were still standing. "I think he can take care of himself." 

A small smile grew across Kato's face, "Yeah, I think you're right." 

Under his breath, the Green Hornet said with a smile, "Thanks, Dad." Then the smile disappeared as he focused on the road ahead of him. "Be careful, Old Man." 

On a fire escape of one of the buildings nearby, Britt turned off the remote control with a sigh of satisfaction and placed it in an inner pocket of his coat. 

"Nice gadget," Stormy remarked as she and Jacques followed Britt down the fire escape. 

"Thanks," Britt replied. 

"Where to now?" she asked. 

Britt regarded the Black Beauty as it drove off. "Home. They can handle it from here." 

"What about Dani?" Jacques asked. 

"You said that Shannon De la Culebra was supposed to meet Archer at his yacht . . . " 

"Oui." 

"And likely she will have Dani with her . . . " 

"Most likely," Jacques agreed. "But the Green Hornet will not know that." 

"But I did notice as we climbed down the fire escape that the Black Beauty is heading for the marina," Britt answered. "He has already figured that's where he's going to find Archer." 

"But still . . . ," Jacques began insistently. 

Britt paused and turned to Jacques with a tired sigh, "What can we do that they can't? They have the car, the weapons . . . " Britt hesitated for a moment. "We'd only be in the way. Besides I'm sure by now Frank and Cheung have alerted everybody. It's best if we head home." 

Jacques looked at Stormy as Britt bent to unlock his car door. She shook her head. She no more liked turning away from the center of action than he did. Aloud she said to Britt, "I guess, at some point, you have to trust him to do the job." 

"At some point, yes," Britt said, pausing before he got into the car. 

"We could at least watch from the sidelines," Stormy suggested helpfully, "Everybody needs to have their back watched." 

"Monsieur Archer is a most devious man," Jacques said. "The watched do not necessarily need to know that they are being watched." he added with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. 

The storm that had been threatening all evening had finally arrived in all its fury. The rain was coming down in blinding sheets while festival-goers were trying to escape to their cars that had been parked several blocks away from the plaza. 

A police car with its siren wailing and lights flashing, splashed by the Black Beauty in the heavy downpour without taking note of the big car. Another came close on its bumper, also not noticing the Black Beauty. 

"Looks like they got the word out," the Green Hornet commented. "We could have been a parade float and they wouldn't have noticed." 

Kato remained silent. The Green Hornet continued, "We're not going to be able to get very close to the plaza. Not with all of this traffic. I hope you're up to getting soaked to the skin." 

Seeming to be lost in thought, Kato still did not say a word 

"I heard that they're launching the first pig sty into space tomorrow . . . " the Green Hornet remarked. 

"Wha . . . ?" Kato said, disturbed out of his thoughts. 

"Is it the traffic or something else?" the Green Hornet ventured. 

"The traffic . . . " Kato started. 

"Really?" The Green Hornet asked, "Or is it Hui Ying?" 

Kato sighed. "Hui Ying," he admitted reluctantly. "I can't believe the change that came over her. It was like she was an entirely different person. The Hui Ying I knew was funny, care free and . . . " 

"Loving?" the Green Hornet suggested. 

Kato shrugged. "Well, we never quite got that far . . . " 

"But there was always that hope . . . " 

"Yeah. Eventually. Maybe. But this Hui Ying. She's like some kind of super assassin. She was colder than a block of ice. She would have killed any one of us, including Tommy without a second thought if her mission, whatever the hell that is, required it. The Hui Ying I knew . . . " 

"Did you really ever know her?" 

"Maybe not. But why was she here in the first place? She showed up a long time before this whole mess started, so she had some reason for being here." 

"What about her trying to get you to China . . . " 

"She said some kind of nonsense about me being the last heir to the Chinese royal throne. She wanted me to lead some kind of revolution against the communists. Was that all for real? Was that her real mission or was it something else?" 

The Green Hornet nodded thoughtfully. "I can see now why you're quiet." He studied Kato's reflection in the rear view mirror, "The change in personality is one thing . . . " 

"But what her real game is . . . " 

"Yeah," the Green Hornet continued, "What her real game is. That's what bothers me, now that you mention it. We may not have seen the last of her." 

"Rescuing Tommy was only a side track . . . " 

The Green Hornet nodded again, then said, "Think you could handle her if it came down to it?" 

"I don't know." Kato sighed, then shook his head. "I've trained in martial arts all my life. My father taught me everything from every discipline he knew, and not just the Chinese stuff either. He believed in using any skill no matter no matter where it came from. He figured anything could be useful in a given situation." 

"But Hui Ying . . . ?" 

"She's learned an entirely different way. I've heard of the Lin Kuei. They start very young and those who live to adulthood are very, very good." 

"And deadly?" 

"Very. If I had to fight Hui Ying it'd be a fight to the death." 

"Yours or hers . . . " 

"Right." 

The Green Hornet was quiet for a few moments as he thought over Kato's answers. The weather outside was getting worse. If that was possible. Finally he said, "We'll take care of tonight. If we succeed, we'll worry about Hui Ying. If we fail," he shrugged. "We won't be in any shape to worry about anything else." 

"We could let the cops take care of Archer and Hakenkrueze," Kato suggested. 

"No, they could slip out while the cops are busy rounding up Hakenkrueze's men." 

"And you want to take care of them personally . . . " 

"Damn right," the Green Hornet admitted. 

"Me too." 

"Maybe you're right," Stormy said watching the rain pour down. They could barely see their way. The windshield wipers on Britt's Cadillac were useless as the rain poured out of the night sky. Every once in a while they could see coruscating police lights as a police cruiser splashed by them, but otherwise they could have been under water for all that they could see out of their windows. "Maybe we should head back to your house," she continued. "The police should be able to take care of Hakenkrueze's men." 

"And the Green Hornet?" Jacques asked. 

"I would think that he'd have enough sense to stay out of the rain and head home," Stormy replied, "There's no way Hakenkrueze and Archer can leave town now. The airport's sure to be shut down in this weather and there's no way he can sail out of here." 

"He'd be a fool to try," Britt said as he fought to keep his car from swerving on the rain-soaked road. "The Great Lakes are legendary for the number of ships that have gone down in late spring storms. Entire coalers have sunk without a ripple. His yacht wouldn't have a chance." 

A sudden streak of lightning and thunder punctuated his words. "Perhaps, Monsieur Reid, you are right," Jacques said, "It would be best to head back to your house." 

"Weather's dampening your spirits, too?" Britt asked, momentarily taking his eyes off the road. 

Jacques' reply was drowned out by Stormy's cries of "Watch out!" when a huge black bulk appeared in front of them. 

Years of practice saved them from plowing into a disabled Humvee that had buried itself into the side of a building. All the same the heavy Cadillac rocked back and forth on its wheels as Britt forced it out of a severe skid. They finally came to a stop in front of three uniformed figures. 

"Out!" demanded a man in military style all weather gear. 

Holding their hands up, Britt, Jacques and Stormy stepped out of the car and into the rain, getting immediately soaked to the skin, especially Stormy who had only dressed in a light sweater. One of the soldiers leered at her with hungry eyes. "What do you want?" Britt demanded pressing himself between the soldier and Stormy. 

"Your car. We're commandeering it," said one of the men who sported Nazi-style eagles on his raincoat. 

"Maybe some female company, too," sneered the man who had leered at Stormy. "After all, what better way to get warm after a little rain." 

The officer's eyes slid up and down Stormy's abundant figure as a slow grin spread across his face. 

"What better way for a bunch of losers to make themselves feel better after they've made a mess of things," Britt gritted. 

Glaring at Britt, the officer pressed his pistol under Britt's chin, "Big talk," he growled, "Let's see how big you talk with a bullet in your brain." 

"I do not believe that Le General would appreciate you killing the very man he would want to see this night," Jacques interrupted. 

The officer's eyes narrowed, "All I see is a wet dog who's making too much noise." His finger tightened on the trigger. "We all know what happens to a dog who barks too much." 

"I would not want to be in your shoes when Le General finds out that you have killed Monsieur Britt Reid," Jacques persisted, "I do not think he would be much pleased. Non?" 

"Reid . . . " the officer said thoughtfully. Then making up his mind, he said, "All right, you, Big Talker, get in the car. As for these two," he turned, aiming his pistol at Jacques. 

Britt shoved against the officer, spilling him into ankle-deep water. "Run!" he yelled to Jacques and Stormy. 

Jacques grabbed Stormy, pulling her at a run up the street past the disabled Humvee. One of the soldiers slammed the butt of his machine gun into the back of Britt's skull, sending him to his knees. 

"No!" the officer shouted before the soldier could fire. "Hold. We'll take him to Hakenkrueze. Whether he's really the guy the Frog's talking about or not, I don't envy him after Hakenkrueze gets his hands on him." 

"What about those two?" 

"Who cares?" the officer bit out, "They're nothing but small fry." He caught the disappointed look of the other soldier, "Forget her, you'll find plenty of willing women in South America." 

Thinking that the Nazis were in hot pursuit behind them, Stormy and Jacques ran blindly for several blocks. Finally Stormy came to a stop, "I can't run anymore," she gasped out, holding her side in pain, "It's too damn cold and too damn wet. 

Jacques bent over, trying to catch his breath, "I do not think, Mademoiselle Stormy, that they are behind us." 

"They gave up?" she said in disbelief. 

"Non. I think they did not chose to chase us." 

"You mean we ran all that way for nothing!" Stormy demanded angrily. 

"It was hard to tell. I did not know what they would do." 

"Damn!" Stormy said, shoving rain soaked hair out of her eyes. She looked back the way they came. "We have to do something. Reid's in danger." 

Jacques wearily leaned his back against a brick wall. "What do you suggest? Do you know where we are?" he asked. 

Stormy reluctantly shook her head. 

"Do you know where they are?" 

Again Stormy shook her head. 

"Mon cheri," Jacques said reasonably, "We are too cold, too wet and too tired, to do ourselves or Monsieur Reid any good." He grinned broadly, noticing that the neon sign above their heads was for a hotel. "Might I suggest a warm bath, thick terry robes, a roaring fire, and a tall flute of champagne?" 

Stormy stared open mouthed in disbelief at the Frenchman. 

"Take care, mon cheri, I have heard that you can drown if you keep your mouth open in the rain too long. 

"But . . . " Stormy began. "How can you joke at a time like this?" 

Jacques gently touched Stormy's elbow, lightly heading her toward the hotel's front door, "What else can we do? Life goes on. I know that Monsieur Reid is a survivor. He will succeed. Have no doubt about that." 

Sighing tiredly, Stormy knew that Jacques was right, but worse she also knew she was falling under his none too subtle charm. "But what about this hotel?" she asked, "This is a five star hotel. They'll never let us in looking like this," she protested. 

Jacques pulled out a credit card, "Mon cheri, you forget the power of Le plastique." 

Stormy allowed herself to match his smile, "I hope you have a high limit, I plan on maxing it out." 

Jacques laughed. "Anything for you, mon cheri. Just ask." He bowed. "Your wish is my command." 

Hakenkrueze angrily threw the cell phone across the yacht's salon. It hit the wall, shattering into tiny pieces. 

"Did that make you feel better?" Archer dryly commented. 

"No!" Hakenkrueze screamed at him. "I won't feel better until I wring your scrawny little neck! First those brainless gangsters double-cross us, then not only does the Green Hornet escapes but several of our men get killed in the process. And now this . . . " 

"Temper, temper . . . " Archer tutted, "You should really learn to control your anger. It's very bad for your health." 

"Health?!" Hakenkrueze, "Working with you has been bad for my health. I never should have agreed to work with you." 

"You didn't have a choice," Archer replied pointedly. "You were a one-armed failure when the Millennium Group approached you with the offer of a partnership." 

"Something I never should have agreed to . . . " 

Archer looked over his glasses at Hakenkrueze, "You received the most advanced artificial limb yet designed, plus a most handsome compensation package . . . " 

"Something that I will never have to chance to use now that your blundering has caused the collapse of all our plans." 

"Excuse me? My blundering?" 

"Yes, your blundering. You dismissed Sprite's defection as of no importance at all. You said he was unimportant. That he had no way of accessing your plans. Well, you were god damn wrong! That last call was from my explosives teams. The police are finding every single explosive they planted at the Global Commerce Center. They said it was just like the police were following a road map. A road map they got from your computer." 

"Impossible," Archer said, suddenly afraid, "There's no way that they could have broken through my security system . . . " 

"They did, you fool. With Sprite's help, of course. What the hell was the idea of putting it on a networked system anyway?" 

"It was impregnable," Archer murmured, "It couldn't have been hacked into. Someone must have talked. Somebody who knew all our plans." 

"No one knew all our plans. No one except you and me. I didn't talk. Did you?" 

"Me? Of course not." 

"Then Sprite hacked into your so-called impregnable system." 

"Then that means . . . " Archer fell bonelessly into a chair. "Oh my god . . . " 

"How much did you have on your computer?" 

"Everything . . . " Archer said weakly, "Everything including all the plans about the Millennium Group. Oh, my god . . . they know everything." 

Hakenkrueze pulled Archer by the lapels of his coat. "Why the hell did you do it?" he demanded. "Why did you keep a record?" 

"It was for the sake of history. People in the future would want to know. They had to know what we did; how much we did in service to humankind." 

"So you could what? Be called a hero? A god?" 

"History . . . " Archer said, picking at the metallic fingers of Hakenkrueze's bionic arm, "It was to make sure that history credited us for our deeds." 

"Fool! The only credit history will give us now is for the sheer scope of our failure." 

"We can start again. All is not lost," Archer pleaded, "I have money in bank accounts all over the world. My supporters will understand. They know that this was only a minor set back. We can recover." 

"Not with me, Archer. I've had enough of your Machiavellian plans. I'm a soldier. I fight. I'm sick of you and yours." Hakenkrueze turned to leave. 

"Where are you going?" Archer demanded. 

"Away," Hakenkrueze answered bitterly, "As far away as I and my men can get." 

"You can't," Archer protested, "I need you and your men." 

"I don't care," Hakenkrueze bit off. "You're on your own." 

"Look, once we get into Canada, we'll regroup . . . " Archer persisted, pulling on Hakenkrueze's arm. 

Hakenkrueze swatted the billionaire away from him with as little effort as hitting a fly. Archer stayed where he landed as Hakenkrueze turned his back to leave. "You'll pay," Archer muttered under his breath, careful that Hakenkrueze didn't hear him. 

Hakenkrueze turned around slowly, his glare telling Archer that he had heard. For the first time the billionaire fell the cold chill of fear as the Nazi faced him, his metal hand opening and closing into a fist. 

"Sir," said one of Hakenkrueze's men as he snapped a precise salute. "Two of our men have returned with a prisoner." 

"What the hell do I want with a prisoner?" Hakenkrueze growled angrily. 

"They said his name was Britt Reid." 

"Reid!" Hakenkrueze said. "Kill him." 

Hakenkrueze quickly changed his mind, "No. Wait. Bring him in. I'll at least have the pleasure of him killing myself," he said, pulling out his pistol. 

"Wait," Archer said, placing a hand on Hakenkrueze's. He quickly removed it under Hakenkrueze's glare. "Reid," he continued, "Might be useful. We can use him as a bargaining chip. Our freedom for his." 

"I have no intention of being in the position where I will need to bargain with anyone," Hakenkrueze answered. 

"As sure of yourself as ever," Reid remarked dryly. Even though his hands were tied and he was soaked to the skin, Britt still managed to look confidently assured. 

Hakenkrueze raised his pistol and pointed it between Britt's eyes. "Have any last words?" he demanded. 

Britt cooly looked him in the eyes. "At least I lived long enough to see all of your plans fail." 

Hakenkrueze's finger tightened on the trigger. 

"Hakenkrueze," Archer said tautly, "Put the gun down." 

"Make me." Hakenkrueze's finger tightened. 

A blast reverberated through the air. 

For a moment Britt couldn't believe he was alive. Hakenkrueze roared clasping his ear. Blood trickled thinly through his fingers. "Archer! You idiot! I'm going to kill you!" 

"Not today. Not ever," Archer said, holding a pistol in his hands. "And if I ever see you again, I'll kill you on the spot," he threatened. 

"You don't have the balls for it. You only did it this time because my back was turned." 

Archer pointed his pistol at Hakenkrueze. "Your back's not turned now. You want to try me?" 

Hakenkrueze's jaw worked as he thought, then decided that the odds were against him. "This isn't over. You won't win next time." 

"Get off my ship," Archer answered. 

Hakenkrueze nodded at his men, then shooting another angry, defiant glare at the billionaire stalked out of the salon. 

Archer glared out the window, watching Hakenkrueze stomping down the ship's gangway. The ship heaved with every footstep he made. _Better off without the bastard anyway, _Archer thought, absently placing his gun on a nearby end table, _The man's too dangerous to have around._

Britt was momentarily forgotten as Archer's eyes narrowed as he thought of his future revenge against the Nazi._ That was also something that the traitor Sam Sprite was going to find out as well, _Archer thought, mentally adding the game designer to his enemies list. 

His eyes fell on his captain who had arrived in response to his earlier orders, "Cast off!" he said to the captain, "I want to leave as soon as possible." 

"But sir," the captain protested, "You can't possibly think of sailing tonight." 

Archer shot a quick look outside the ship. A car had pulled up into the marina's parking lot. Shannon stepped out of it with Danielle in tow. _At least she's now where I can keep an eye on her,_ Archer thought of the redhead. 

"You can see for yourself that the storm is over. It's only drizzling very lightly now," he said to the captain, "In fact," he said, forcing a confident grin, "We're going to have ourselves a lovely moonlight sail." 

"You don't understand, Mr. Archer," the captain explained, "This is only the calm before the storm picks up again. There's small craft warnings all up and down the coast. Nobody's sailing tonight. Even the big ships are staying in port. We won't have a chance when the eye of the storm passes by us." 

"We will sail tonight," Archer said, "If we don't, I will make sure that you never sail again. Not even a rowboat. Do you understand?" 

"Yes, sir," the captain replied, "I understand perfectly." Without another word he nodded and bowed before leaving the room. 

"He's right," Britt said, "Only a fool would sail tonight." 

Archer glared at him. "We sail tonight," he gritted, the tone of his voice leaving no room for argument. 

Archer returned to watching Shannon. Standing in the open gate that led to Archer's private dock, she was arguing with Hakenkrueze. Hakenkrueze listened stonily Shannon's tirade, then without a comment or change in expression turned his back on her as if she didn't exist._ Good riddance,_ Archer thought as he watched Hakenkrueze climb into the car that the red head had arrived in, _I don't need him anyway_. 

Archer smiled at the way Shannon stomped up the gangway. It bounced under her feet almost as heavily as it did under Hakenkrueze's. "Archer!" he heard her voice long before she appeared in the salon. "Do you know what that muscle-headed creep did?" 

"Let me guess," Archer said dryly. "He had his men take you here instead of letting you fly off for parts unknown." 

"Well . . . yes . . . ," Shannon replied, her green eyes going crafty, "I thought it would be better to not be in town when the 'fireworks' started. After all, one never knows . . . " 

"Right, one never knows when the whole thing will blow up in your face," Archer replied bitterly, "Which, as you might have noticed, has happened." 

"Now, darling, I think you're making much ado about nothing. I'm sure there's a way we can work our way out of this," Shannon said with cloying confidence, "You know a lot of people in high places. People who owe you. Just pull a few strings. Blame Hakenkrueze. Say that he forced you to do all these things. They'll buy that." 

"Would you, my dear?" Archer asked Danielle who had retreated into her father's arms. 

Danielle shook her head. "No." 

"And you, Reid, would you?" 

"Only an idiot would," Britt replied. 

"Of course, they wouldn't," Shannon said, referring to Britt and Danielle, "Of all people to ask . . . " 

"That's it, though, they know the truth. A lot of people do," Archer replied. 

"Hmph," Shannon replied, "The truth can be remade any way you want it. Isn't that right, Britt?" she cooed at Britt, running a finger down his arm. Britt moved his arm away from her touch as if it was poison. 

When she didn't get a reply, Shannon continued, "What would you do to keep your daughter safe?" 

Britt thoughtfully looked down at Danielle. 

Shannon smiled nastily. "You'd give your life for her, never mind sacrificing such a small thing as the truth. After all what is truth? It's just something everyone chooses to agree on. It can be remade, if everyone agrees that it is now the truth." 

"No!" Danielle, cried out, "I won't be a party to your re-manufacturing reality to suit your evil plans. We have enough proof to make sure that both of you are put away for a very long time. All of your so-called friends are going to deny everything. They'll all turn their backs on you. There will be no one left. No one except for your lawyers and they'll only be there because you're paying them." 

"And what about all your little family secrets?" Shannon replied. "Remember the truth can cut both ways." 

Shaking his head, Britt replied, "No matter what happens, the real truth will come out. Even if it puts my family and me in danger, the truth about your mad schemes will still come out." 

"How very brave," Shannon said cynically. 

"And likely very true," Archer said in a defeated voice. 

Shannon tossed her head in denial and picked up a cut glass wine bottle. "Where's the purser?" she demanded, "This bottle is empty." 

"Ring for him," Archer said tersely. He turned to Danielle who had slid into a chair in front of Britt. "I hope you're looking forward to a midnight cruise." 

"Who's going to be at the helm?" Danielle asked archly. 

Archer frowned at her question. "The captain, of course." 

"Oh," Danielle said with wide-eyed innocence, "You mean that man with the stripes who's heading off the ship with the rest of the crew?" 

"What?" Archer shouted running for the window. "The fools!" 

"I guess they don't feel like a midnight cruise," Danielle said, "You're stuck. Both of you. The police should be here any minute." 

"No!" Archer shouted, "This is not happening!" 

"You don't know how to sail your own ship?" Shannon asked. 

"Of course not. I have people I pay to do that." 

"Of course," Danielle said, not helping, "You're screwed." 

Archer looked up at Britt, "You have a ship . . . " 

"A small one . . . " 

"But you know how to sail larger ones, don't you?" 

"Yes . . . " 

"Then you will take us out." 

"Not in this weather. It'd be suicide." 

Archer picked up his pistol from where he had laid it down. He pointed it at Danielle's head. "You said you were willing to risk everything for the truth, even the lives of your family," he said. "Are you now willing to see her die because you're afraid to take this ship out?" 

"Let her off the ship and I'll take you out," Britt replied without a moment's thought. 

Archer smiled triumphantly. "Of course. As long as I have your word." 

Britt nodded. "You have my word." 

"Dad, you can't," Danielle pleaded, rising to face her father. "You just said it yourself. It'd be suicide to go out in this weather. You can't possibly make it to Canada." 

Britt grasped her shoulders, "Don't worry about me. I'm a very good sailor." 

"But . . . " Danielle protested fearfully. 

Britt tenderly kissed the top of her head, "It's for the best sweetheart. Tell your mother I love her. And stand by your brother. I know he'll carry on. Help him any way you can." 

Danielle started crying. "No, no, no." 

Archer grasped her elbow, leading Danielle out of the salon and off the ship, he said, "Don't worry. We'll release your father once we're safe." 

"You don't understand," Danielle shouted up at Archer as the gangway was pulled into the ship. "He doesn't plan on reaching Canada," she added very softly under her breath. 

Archer watched the stricken girl from the dry luxury of the salon. Shannon stood next to him, nursing the glass of whisky she had poured from a bottle she had found in the liquor cabinet. "We're off," he said confidently to her. He smiled at her. "You know your idea doesn't sound half bad. There's always a way out." 

"Yeah," Shannon replied. "Strange thing, though . . . " 

"What?" 

"That pistol of yours doesn't have any bullets in it." 

At the ship's helm, Britt pulled bullets out of his pocket. He looked at them thoughtfully before tossing them out the window. The bullets sunk into the unforgiving waves, small pieces of metal added to tons that already littered the lake bed. 

The yacht started to pull slowly away from the dock. The wind was starting to pick and white caps were forming on the waves as the ship cut through them. The night darkened sky was heavy with clouds pregnant with lightning that skipped from thunder head to thunder head. 

"Dani," came a soft voice from behind her. Danielle turned to see the Green Hornet standing behind her. Kato stood back a few paces behind him, looking uncertainly at the yacht as it slowly headed for open water through the heaving waves. For a few moments she allowed herself to think that her father had been able to escape from the doomed yacht, but the grey eyes behind the mask told her that the green masked man was John, not her father. 

"Dad's on Archer's yacht," Danielle said in a dead voice. "He's not planning on coming back." Her voice broke as she buried her head against her brother's chest. 

Rain was starting to fall again, but none of them cared. They could only watch in horrified fascination. Past the breakwater, the luxurious yacht plowed through ever increasing waves. Lightning flashed across the sky, making the ship glow white as if lit with a spectral light. For a moment it crested one wave only to plunge down out of sight. They held their breaths, waiting for the ship to reemerge. It did for a moment, heading North the coast, luminescent against the black water and the black sky. 

Lightning struck the earth, momentarily blinding them. Slowly vision returned, but only to reveal the world covered in ebon last night and cold, shuddering rain. John's eyes strained for a hint of the yacht. "Maybe they're too far out for us to see . . . " he said more his sake than his sister's. 

Another bolt of lightning sped across the sky, and everything was lit as a brightly as day. "There!" Lee shouted, pointing at a brave white speck against the heaving waves. 

The ship rose up delicately balanced upon a wave. Suddenly another wave rose higher, clasping the ship in a jealous grasp. Darkness crashed down only to be lit up again. The yacht was no where to be seen. 

"Maybe it's out of sight," Danielle said hopefully. 

"Yeah," John answered. "Don't worry. You know Dad. He's a survivor." He turned Danielle away from the lake. "Let's go home," he said, nodding to Lee, who turned to go. "I'm sure we'll get a call tomorrow morning from some Mountie telling us that Dad has Archer and De la Culebra trussed up like Thanksgiving turkeys." 

"You're fools if you believe that," Hakenkrueze growled. "The old man's dead. So's Archer and the woman." He spat at the ground, "Good riddance." 

John pressed Danielle behind him. "Why don't you crawl back into whatever hole you came out of," he said. "You're finished." 

"No, I'm not finished. Not by a long shot," Hakenkrueze answered. "I knew as soon as I saw you two," he said nodding toward the Green Hornet and Kato, "that I had to return. There is still unfinished business between us." 

"Could it also be because the police now have the entire area cordoned off? There's no way you can escape now," the Green Hornet said. 

Hakenkrueze grimaced, then spat out a curse, "That De la Culebra only made it through because one of the men manning the barricades recognized her as being with Archer. By the time I tried to get out, he was gone. They aren't allowing anyone in or out now." A triumphant gleam came into the Nazi cold eyes. "I may be trapped," he admitted, "But so are you." A nasty grin spread across his face as the thin wail of police sirens pierced the air. "Time to go. Isn't it? That's the way it always is with the Green Hornet. As soon as the cops arrive, the Green Hornet disappears." Hakenkrueze mimed a stricken look, "But you're not the Green Hornet, are you? You're nothin' but a pale imitation. The real Green Hornet's dead . . . " 

"Shut up, you bastard," John growled. 

"You going to make me, little man?" Hakenkrueze glanced at Lee, "Or are you going to have your man do it for you?" 

"No," John said in a very low, deadly voice, "I'm going to take care of you myself." 

"Try," Hakenkrueze goaded, "See if you can do it, imitation hornet." 

John circled warily around the Nazi who grinned wolfishly back at him. "You have a lot of confidence for a man who's been defeated twice by a man twice his age," John needled. "How did it feel for a member of the master race to be beaten by an old man?" 

Hakenkrueze growled back, "Did you like what I did to that girl's boyfriend? He begged me to stop. He cried like a baby while I ripped him apart like he was so much rotten meat. That's what I'm going to do to you. And to your entire family including your mother and pretty little sister. I only wish I was facing the real Green Hornet instead of an inferior copy." 

John could feel the hot rush of blood behind his eyes, but forced himself to remain calm. "What are you waiting for then?" he needled, "Why don't you try it? Or are you afraid? Afraid that the entire world will see you for what you really are." 

"What am I?" Hakenkrueze pressed, coming nearer to John as they circled. 

Lightning flashed, closely trailed by a thunder clap. John leaped for Hakenkrueze carrying him down with him to the ground. He slammed a fist into the Nazi's face, breaking his nose. 

Hakenkrueze twisted mightily, throwing John away from him like a boar tossing a stubborn terrier. Shaking his head, while smearing the blood dripping from his nose with a careless backhanded motion. "First blood is yours. Fool's luck." 

John barely had enough time to regain his balance before Hakenkrueze had him in a back breaking bear hug. Black spots danced before John's eyes while in the background he could hear Danielle screaming as Lee held her out of the fight. John smashed his head into the Nazi's, managing to bloody the Nazi's nose again. 

With an angry roar, Hakenkrueze slammed John to the ground. Dizzy with a resounding headache and gasping for breath, John barely rolled out of the way as Hakenkrueze rammed a two-handed fist down at him. Missing his target, Hakenkrueze staggered and lost his balance. John body slammed Hakenkrueze in the knees, again knocking him to the ground. Hakenkrueze caught John in the chest with his feet, knocking the breath out of him, sending him crashing to the ground. 

John pulled himself to his feet, jumping back barely in time as Hakenkrueze swung at him. He felt the sharp bite of steel across his stomach a moment after he saw the bright gleam of the neo-Nazi's blade. The cut was shallow, but deep enough to leave a thin line of blood in its wake. "Second blood's mine," Hakenkrueze wheezed through his shattered nose. "Hear that imitation hornet? Hear those police sirens? They're closer now. You're out of time." 

Hakenkrueze swung his knife in a wide arc. John ducked under his swing, rising up with a powerful left into Hakenkrueze's stomach. The Nazi staggered a moment, grinned, then smashed a fist into John's face. John went flying under the force of the blow, landing with his back hard against a piling. The blow had been powerful enough to crack the nose piece of John's mask. His nose wasn't broken but a few drops of blood and blinding pain told him it was going to be very sore in the morning. If he lived. 

Grinning, Hakenkrueze tossed his knife from hand to hand, flesh to metal, metal to flesh and back and again. "They're getting closer," he taunted. "Get to your feet and I'll promise you a clean death. At least then you won't see your family shamed when the truth comes out about the Green Hornet." 

John shook his head, his mouth setting into a grim line. The sirens were too close now, they'd never get away . . . He felt the firm outlines of a boat bumper next to his right hand. Snatching the bumper by its nylon rope, he exploded to his feet, swinging the bumper around him. He struck Hakenkrueze square on, sending the knife flying into the air. He kept on slamming the bumper into Hakenkrueze, slamming and swinging it until the neo-Nazi fell to the ground. 

John fell down on top of him, knees into his chest. A great whoof of air rushed out of Hakenkrueze's lungs. Blinded by anger, blinded by the knowledge that it was all ended; all because of the Nazi. John doubled the bumper's nylon ropes around Hakenkrueze's throat, continuing to throttle him as his face turned from red to purple. 

"Kill him! Kill him!" Danielle screamed, tearing herself out of Lee's hands. 

John looked up at her. "Kill him!" she screamed, "Dad's dead because of him! Kill him!" Danielle's hair was dripping in sodden ringlets around her face and her wet clothes hugged her slender, angrily erect body like a second skin. Blinded by grief, Danielle had become a valkyrie, a harpy, an angel of death demanding bloody retribution. 

John loosed his hold on the ropes. He watched Hakenkrueze's face color start to return to normal. "You're not going to win," he said to the neo-Nazi. You might be able to turn the Green Hornet into a prisoner, but you'll never turn him into a murderer." 

"Fool!" Hakenkrueze roared, smashing his metal hand into John's chest, slamming him hard to the ground. Stunned and exhausted, John tried to rise to his knees. Hakenkrueze raised his metallic arm, its steel flesh catching a stray glimmer from the new born sun breaking through the clouds of the slowly dying storm. Lightning still danced from grey cloud to grey cloud even though traces of rose peeked through gold touched edges. 

"Fool!" Hakenkrueze repeated, raising his arm higher for the death blow, "Mercy is only for fools!" 

Suddenly lightning licked out, striking Hakenkrueze's arm. His scream of agony as the electrical charge burned out his nerves of steel and flesh mingled with the growling clap of thunder. For a few minutes the world was pure white and bright grey. Finally everyone's vision returned only to be greeted by the ashen heap that had once been General Anthony Hakenkrueze, proud leader of the master race. 

"John!" Danielle cried, running for her brother's arms, "I'm so sorry." 

"That's okay, sis," he answered, taking her into his arms. "I know how you feel." 

"Now what?" Lee asked, watching the police cars pull up near the entrance to the marina. "There's no way we can get past them." 

John reluctantly pulled his mask off. Badly cracked, with the hornet symbol had nearly peeled off in the drenching rain, it had been formed to his father's features. Features he would never see again in this life. He sighed. "Give me your mask," he said to Lee. 

Understanding, Lee pulled his mask off. Like John's, it had been formed to his father's face. He tenderly ran his fingers over the black plastic. It had fitted well, but not perfectly. The two men shared a look. 

John threw his mask into the still restless waves. Lee's followed it. Slowly the masks floated away from the edge of the pier until they sunk out of sight. 

John looked meaningfully at Lee and Danielle. "We're only John and Danielle Reid, and their friend, Lee. Victims of Archer's and Hakenkrueze's insanity." John said very softly as the police approached them. 


	12. chapter twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

**Family Ties**

I 

"It's going to be a beautiful day," Danielle heard the weatherman on the radio say. She closed her eyes tightly. Behind her closed lids her eyes felt hot and dry as if she had stared into a desert windstorm. She couldn't cry. The tears wouldn't come. All she felt inside was nothing, as if she was dead instead of her father. 

Denial. 

She had seen that diagnosis in Detective Morrisey's eyes. Behind the tough cynicism existed a good cop who gave a damn. John didn't cry, neither did Lee. Men were expected to be dry-eyed. Women, especially daughters, weren't. Morrisey had been with the cops who had arrived at the marina. He had heard John's explanation without comment even though she could see he knew it wasn't the entire truth. 

Not lies. No, John hadn't lied to him, nor to the other cops, nor would he to the cameras and the reporters to come. He had told the truth, just not all of it. Nothing that had to do with the Green Hornet. Britt Reid had courageously given up his life to save his daughter. His son had battled the Nazi until a bolt from the sky had rendered God's judgement. 

That would soon be on the Sentinel's front page. It would be DSTV's lead story. The Sentinel would be bannered in black in mourning. The newscasters would wear black bands on their arms. So would everyone at the Sentinel. Especially Britt Reid's family. 

Danielle looked out over the lake. It was quiet, peaceful, as if the night's storm had not happened. As if it had not taken three more lives into its frigid depths. Lee sat up in front with Morrisey. Morrisey had silenced the unmarked car's police radio in favor of some inane morning duo chatting up the morning drive. Morrisey hadn't said a word, accepting with only a nod, Danielle's request that they drive along the coast, following the path Archer's ship had taken in the rain. John sat beside her, sharing Danielle's silence, sharing her grief. __

_ He should be able to cry,_ she thought, _It's crazy for a man not to be able to cry._ _Am I mad? _she wondered. _Why can't I cry?_

Denial. 

Danielle suddenly sat upright in her seat. "Detective Morrisey," she said in a rush, "Stop the car." 

"Wh-wh- what?" Morrisey stammered out, broken from his own glum thoughts, going instantly into defensive mode. 

"Stop!" Danielle yelled urgently, "Now!" 

Morrisey slammed onto the brakes, pulling to the lake side of the road. Horns from cars behind them blared in angry protest at their sudden stop. Barely waiting for the car to come to a full stop, Danielle barreled out of her door, heading for the lake. 

"Is she sick?" Morrisey demanded of John, who could only shake his head in puzzlement. 

The three men lumbered up and over the guardrails that Danielle had leaped over like a panicked doe. The girl was already several yards ahead of them when she suddenly stopped. She knelt over a huddled shape draped over wave-washed rocks. 

"Dad!" John yelled, running to his sister's side. He helped her drag their father further out of the water. 

"Is he okay?" Danielle asked shakily. 

"Is he alive?" Morrisey demanded, ever the fact-seeking cop. 

Britt Reid's eyes opened slowly, their color between the blue of the sky and the green of the sea, "I think so," he answered. He forced an exhausted smile, bestowing it on his children, "What took you two so long?" he said, glad to be alive to ask. 

"Daddy!" was all Danielle could say before wrapping herself into her father's arms. Now the tears came. They came freely, without grief. 

Further down the coast, hidden by rocks too high to be seen from the road, or for the people clustered around Britt Reid to see, jealous green eyes watched. Shannon de la Culebra could have caught their attention. They would have carried her to safety and warmth, but she did nothing but watch. Not for her the jail cell or the trial. She would make her own way. She would again rise to power. She was a survivor. She knew secrets. Many of them. The time would come when she would use them. When it suited her. 

II 

George Cheung angrily regarded his son and grandson as they stood before him. Their heads were bowed with downcast eyes before his righteous wrath. "You two have dishonored the family name. You have shamed me by your actions." 

"Grandfather . . . " Tommy began hesitantly. 

"Did I give you leave to speak?" George snapped. 

Tommy shook his head. 

"Your foolish pursuit of the girl cost our family much, not only in honor but in the terms of debt and favors to be repaid. I had to call in many favors that could have been used for a more worthy cause . . . " 

The elder Cheung waved his hand impatiently when it looked like Tommy was going to say something. "I should have known better than to acquiesce to your request. Indeed I would not have but your idea that young Lee might be the heir to the Peacock throne was too good to ignore. Of course, as I should have expected, the stupid girl didn't know what she was talking about. That boy is no more heir to the throne than I am." 

Tommy looked up in surprise, but the look in his grandfather's eyes warned him that despite what they both knew, the truth was whatever he said. It was either that or die. Hui Ying, if that was her true name, had warned them so. The Lin Kuei had decided that the time was not yet right to kill Lee. Maybe in the future, if he became a threat to their interests, but for now they would let him live. It was easier that way since he seemed to have no interest in China and more importantly, he had powerful friends who could either be useful or a danger. Only time would tell. She had made it clear that the Lin Kuei would be watching matters very closely. Death could come at any time, from any where. 

"What do you have to say for yourself, young man?" George Cheung demanded. 

"I beg your forgiveness, grandfather. I am not worthy. I have been a fool," Tommy said humbly. 

George Cheung nodded with satisfaction. True, in the old country in the old days, the boy would have had to kneel and knock his head on the ground three times, but this was after all, America. "There will be no more of this acting foolishness," the elder Cheung continued. "You will return to the University to continue your studies. Studies, that I have chosen for you. This family is in need of one who can handle business," he cast a disgusted look at his son, "One idealist in this family is enough. I am no longer a young man, if you do well, I will send you to mainland China to handle our interests there." 

"Thank you, grandfather," Tommy replied, bowing deeply. "You will not regret your trust in me." 

"I have no trust in you, grandson," George rebutted pointedly, "That will come later. If you prove yourself to my satisfaction." 

"I understand," Tommy answered. 

"Good. Now leave us," George said with an imperious wave of his hand. 

After Tommy had left, George turned to his son. "I can understand the boy's failures. He is after all, only a child, but you, Michael. You have no such excuse. You are a grown man, at least I had always led myself to believe that. Through your actions, you not only betrayed your family, but your duties, as well. That is unforgivable . . . " 

"Would you rather have seen your grandson murdered?" Michael demanded. 

George's eyes flared in anger, "You dare argue with me?" 

"Yes." Michael dared to answer. "There is nothing more important to me than my family. Not my life, not my honor, nothing." 

"Not even honor?" 

"Without my family, what is honor?" 

"What about family honor?" 

"If there is no family, how can there be family honor?" 

"The ancestors . . ." 

"The ancestors are dead," Michael retorted, "Long dead. In China. This is America . . . " 

"So again, you defy me. You did it when you chose the public defender's office instead of the corporate position I had chosen for you . . . " 

"And it went well, didn't it, Father? That a company wound up failing because of corruption from inside. I would have been caught up in it if I had joined them as you wanted. Now I'm on the fast track to the state senate." 

"Which your involvement in this matter will endanger . . . " 

"It would except I intend to confess everything." 

"Confess? Why? How many know of your betrayal?" 

"No one knows for sure, but there are those who suspect." 

"Then remain silent on the matter." 

Michael shook his head, "No way, father, there are always those who will talk, and more importantly those who will listen. Half truths and suspicions have killed more than one promising political career. The public is more forgiving of sincere repentance than it is of duplicity. I intend to tell the truth; that Julius Archer had kidnaped my son and threatened to kill him if I didn't do what he said." 

George nodded thoughtfully, "The distraught father, not knowing what to do . . . " 

"Exactly." 

"What about the Lin Kuei assassin?" 

"I will plead ignorance if anyone brings her up. It is after all, the truth. I had no idea that you had hired a Lin Kuei to rescue Thomas. If you had let me know . . . " 

"So it is my fault then?" George said testily. 

"No," Michael answered, "Except for the fact that you have never chosen to rely on me. I am, after all, your son . . . " 

"And my heir . . . " 

"If you do not allow me knowledge of what you are doing, how can I act appropriately? We are, after all, family." 

"And there is nothing more important than family," George said thoughtfully, finding to his surprise that he had new respect for his very American son. 

III 

Frank comfortably stretched his legs as he settled into the chair in Britt's office at the Daily Sentinel. "Glad to be back?" he asked Britt. 

"Very," the publisher said. "There's stacks of paperwork for me to go through, but I'm glad to be around to do it." 

"So am I," Casey agreed, as she took a seat next to her husband, "I always figured that I could do the work. I've been here long enough. But . . . " she smiled as she placed her hand on Britt's, "It's something I'd rather have Britt do." Her smile grew teasing, "It's so boring . . . " 

"Thanks," Britt said with a crooked grin, "I appreciate that. I think." He reluctantly tore his eyes away from Casey's. "So, Frank, how did it go?" 

"Well," Frank said, "We have most of Hakenkrueze's people in custody. A few of them put up a fight, but thanks to the information Mr. Sprite provided, we had the people to take care of them. We didn't lose any of our people although some are wounded and are in the hospital. None critical, thank God. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for those Nazis. At least ten of them died fighting the police. Another ten or so were killed by the gangs that for some reason decided to turn on them. Lucky for us, but not for them. Some of the gang members might have been killed. We have rumors some were, but no confirmed bodies. We also have a few Nazi bodies that look like they were sliced to pieces by some kind of sword. I take it that was the work of your Lin Kuei assassin." 

Britt nodded. "Any sign of her?" 

"Nope," Frank said, "I don't expect to either. Those kind of people go through our borders like ghosts. Nobody sees them, nobody knows that they exist." 

"What about Shannon De la Culebra?" 

"No sign of her either. No body matching her description has washed up on the beach, so we have no confirmation if she's dead or not." 

"Too bad," Casey said quietly. At Britt's and Frank's shocked looks, she added, "I'm sorry to sound so cold blooded, but that woman has dragged our family through all sorts of hell. I'd just rather she was dead so she couldn't cause us any more heartache. Besides, she knows . . . " 

Britt sighed, "That she does. As long as there's a chance she's alive, we can't ever relax our guard." 

"She'll be back," Casey said, "Only worse. That type of woman won't rest until she has her revenge." 

"So," Frank said, in a slightly bantering tone, "Is a woman's vengeance any worse than a man's?" 

"Much worse," Casey responded, allowing the edge of her bitterness at Shannon De la Culebra show through. 

"Anyway," Britt said, quickly covering his surprise at the depth of his wife's feelings, "What about this Millennium Group?" 

"The stuff that we pulled from Sprite's computer and the files the authorities were able to subpoena from Archer's company will go a long way toward helping them track that group down." 

"But . . . " Britt said, catching the dissatisfaction in his old friend's voice. 

"It looks like the Millennium Group has its fingers in almost every government and business in the world. They've been around a long time and have buried themselves in very deeply. I don't think there's a way to root every single member out from wherever they're hidden. There's too many of them, and too many with a lot of power." 

"So there's the good likelihood that their plans will continue," Casey said. 

"Unfortunately, yes," Frank said, "but a lot of damage was done to their plans, and the fact that these plans are not so secret anymore should slow them down quite a bit." 

"You hope," Britt said skeptically. 

"I do. I have a right to hope that too," Frank responded. "It's like you always said as the Green Hornet. The most important thing that you can do is to reveal hidden corruption to the bright light of public scrutiny. It's a lot harder to operate if people are aware that you are doing something." 

"I hope you're right, Frank," Britt said. 

"Do you think they might want to get back at us?" Casey asked, "To punish us to messing up their plans?" 

"I don't honestly know," Frank answered. "You're very much in the public's eye. They might decide that the risk would be too great." 

"But that doesn't mean that we should let our guard down," Britt said. 

"I'm afraid it doesn't," Frank admitted. 

"I had hoped it was all over," Casey said unhappily, "but now it looks like it isn't." 

Britt squeezed his wife's hand, "It's never over, Casey." He grimaced at the thoughts running through his mind, "It'll never be over, I'm afraid. Not for us Reid's. Not since the Reid brothers in that canyon over a hundred years ago. There's always going to be some new threat or danger." Shaking his head, he added with pride, "And there's always going to be a Reid to meet it." 

"Then you've decided . . . " Casey began. 

"Yes, I have." Britt answered. 

"Mr. Reid," Linda Travis said after knocking on the office door, "There's a call for you. It's Dr. Grant about Mr. Axford." 

Britt took the call. 

"Britt, I think you better get down here as soon as you can," Dr. Grant said. 

"Why?" 

"An aneurism has developed in his brain. So far it's stable, but . . . " 

"It's not going to stay that way." Britt finished for him. 

"They never do," Dr. Grant answered. 

"Isn't there anything you can do? Some kind of drug or surgery? I'll cover whatever cost there is." 

"I'm sorry, Britt, there's nothing I can do. We can't reach the aneurism and even if we could, most people die before we ever get them to the operating room. We're lucky as it is to have spotted it before it blew." 

"So there's nothing you can do?" 

"Nothing. I've already contacted the chapel here. The priest will be here soon to deliver the last rites. I believe that's what Mr. Axford wanted . . . " 

"Yes, it was," Britt said. "As well as 'no resuscitation'. There's also one other thing Mike wanted." 

"Axford," a firm voice broke through the haze in Axford's brain. It felt like he had been floating in a grey gauze for an eternity. He remembered the droning voice of a priest giving him the last rites. He hadn't bothered to respond. He knew it was time to go. He was ready except for one thing. "Axford." the voice repeated. 

Mike opened his eyes, not surprised to see the green masked man standing before him. "Hornet," he said. 

The Green Hornet nodded. "I made you a promise." 

"I remember," Mike said. "I was waiting for you." 

"You were?" the Green Hornet asked. 

"Yeah," Mike said, knowing that it was the truth. "I wasn't about to let you get away with it." 

The Green Hornet nodded. "I understand. Are you sure you really want to know who I am?" 

"It's not like I have a whole lot of time to think it over," Mike said. His eyes narrowed, "Can I make a guess?" 

"Yes." 

"You're Britt, aren't you?" 

The Green Hornet removed his mask and hat. "Yes," he said. "How long did you know?" he asked. 

"I don't know. I don't think I ever really knew for sure. I just had my suspicions, that's all." 

Britt nodded, "But you never told me of them, why?" 

"I didn't want to look like an idiot if I was wrong. I kept on telling myself it was impossible that Frank's boy was a master criminal . . . " 

"I'm sorry, Mike . . . " 

Mike weakly raised his hand, "No, let me finish. I couldn't ever believe that you were really some kind of crook, so all I could think of was that you were some kind of masked crime fighter. As farfetched as it seemed." Reaching for the mask, Mike looked narrowly at Britt. "That's what the Green Hornet really is, isn't he?" 

"Yes," Britt admitted, as he sat down on the edge of Mike's bed. 

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" 

"I wanted to. Hundreds of times. But I couldn't. I guess in a way I was afraid how'd you take it, and . . . " 

"And?" Mike asked pointedly. 

Britt allowed himself a small smile. "I think it would have ruined your fun." 

"My fun?" Mike tried to act outraged, but failed. A grin spread across his face, "It was some fun, wasn't it, Britt?" 

"The best Mike. You kept me on my toes all the time. I don't think I could have done it without you." 

"Without me? How? Seemed like half the time you were trying to keep my fat butt out of the fire." 

"Your stories, Mike. They helped make the Green Hornet what he is. Because of you everybody believed that the Green Hornet was indeed a dangerous master criminal. I couldn't have done any better if I had written a script. If it hadn't been for your stories, I could have never been able to convince the underworld to accept the Green Hornet as a fellow gangster, especially as a dangerous one." 

"So you didn't think I was a fool then?" 

"Far from it. My father taught me how to run a newspaper, but you taught me how to get the story, how to get the facts even when people didn't want them revealed. I'll never forget what you taught me." Britt glanced over at Mike's heart monitor. He wasn't a doctor, but even he could see that the old reporter was starting to fail. "You taught the kids everything about being a good reporter, too. And about being a good person. That especially. You're the grandfather they never had." 

Mike ran his fingers thoughtfully over the green mask. He looked up at Britt. "Dani's okay, then?" 

"She's fine." 

"So the Green Hornet rescued her in the nick of time, like always?" Mike asked in a light tone. 

"Not quite," Britt admitted, "I'm not sure who actually rescued who." 

"What about Johnny-boy? And Casey?" 

"They're both fine," Britt answered. He noticed that the light in Mike's eyes were starting to fade. 

"I'm glad you showed up," Mike said, "I can rest easy now." 

"Mike," Britt said, placing his hand on Mike's. The reporter's hand felt chilled to his touch. "Everyone's waiting for you to get out of the hospital," he said. "We're going to have a big party when you get out." 

Mike's gaze sharpened. "Don't try to fool this old man, Britt. I know my time's up. It's all right. I'm looking forward to the stories I'm going to write on the other side. You gotta promise me one thing though . . . " 

"What's that?" 

"I don't want everybody to get all weepy about me. I want you to throw a big party when I am gone." 

"I will, Mike," Britt promised, "I'll throw the biggest damned wake this city has ever seen. There'll be singing and dancing and drinking . . . " 

"And beer, lots of beer. The good stuff, nothin' cheap," Mike urged. 

"Of course, only the best. People will talk about your wake for years to come," Britt continued. 

Mike smiled, but the light in his eyes were dimming. "I want some green beer there too," he said, glancing at the mask in his hand. 

"Green? I thought you hated the stuff." 

Mike winked. "It's in honor of the Hornet. My old adversary. You tell people that when they ask. You tell them about my stories." 

"I will," Britt said. "I'll tell them how you were the best reporter this city has ever seen." He clasped Mike's hand harder, but there was no answering response. "Mike?" Britt said. The old reporter was gone. "Good night, Mike," Britt said gently folding Mike's hands over the green mask and hat. "You're released from your duty. You did a good job." He choked out, "This edition's ready to be put to bed and the presses are ready to roll." 

"Britt," Dr. Grant said as he shut off the heart monitor's alarm, "He's gone." 

"I know," Britt said very softly. 

Dr. Grant glanced at the mask and hat in Mike's stilled hands. He grasped Britt's shoulder. "So you told him." 

Britt nodded. "Yeah, I promised him that I would." He rose slowly to his feet. 

"Do you think you should leave the mask and hat? People will ask." 

"Good," Britt choked out, fighting the grief that threatened to overwhelm him. "They should ask. Let everybody wonder." 

The doctor worriedly tightened his hold on Britt's arm. "Are you going to be okay? I can get you something . . . " 

Britt placed a reassuring hand over the doctor's. He shook his head. "No. I'll be fine. I have to make some calls," he said heading out of the room. 

"Britt, if you want me to . . . " Dr. Grant began. 

Britt pulled himself erect, his eyes shining with restrained tears, "No, it's my duty." He glanced over at Mike's body, then forced a smile. "I promised Mike that we were going to throw the biggest wake this city has ever seen." His voice broke, then strengthened. "That's the least I can do. He was the finest newspaperman I had ever known." 

"I know," Dr. Grant said. "I know." 

IV 

"What are you two doing now?" Britt asked as he closed the barn's door behind him. It was several days after Mike's funeral. It had been a grand one, with pipers and a long line of newspapermen and cops who had known the old reporter following Mike's hearse to the cemetery. Britt had never realized before how many people's lives Mike had touched. He knew Mike would have been glad to hear his funeral had rivaled those of important statesmen. Britt smiled to himself. The wake too, had been grand. There were still people getting over the hangovers from it. It was going to be talked about for years afterwards. 

_That's good_, Britt thought, _Now on to other business_. 

"Well?" he said, trying not to laugh at the way John and Lee quickly spun around, unsuccessfully hiding the guilty looks on their faces. Lee was trying to move some papers of Britt's sight while trying to maintain a look of studied innocence. He wasn't succeeding. John trying to cover for Lee stammered out, "Nothing, Dad, we were, uh, doing some maintenance on the Black Beauty." 

"I can see that," Britt said archly. The Black Beauty was sitting in the middle of the barn's wide expanse with its rocket doors, gas gun and stinger gun ports open. A few of its rockets and the scanner were sitting on the work bench next to Lee. "Checking out the weapons systems?" he asked. 

"Yeah," John agreed, too hastily. 

Britt walked over to the workbench. Noticing how slowly his father was moving John asked, "How are you feeling?" 

"Fine," Britt answered, moving his cane to his other hand while he reached for the papers that Lee had not successfully hidden. "Still moving slower than I like," he admitted, "But what's a bunch of bruises compared to being dead? At least this way I know I'm still alive. C'mon," he said to Lee, "Let's see what you have there." 

"Uh, it's nothing, Mr. Reid," Lee said, vainly trying to keep the papers out of Britt's sight. 

"If it was nothing, you wouldn't be trying to hide it," Britt answered with the rise of one eyebrow. 

"We were working on some ideas for a replacement . . . " John said sheepishly as Lee handed his father the papers. 

"For the Black Beauty . . . " 

"Yeah," John admitted reluctantly. "She's a great car and all, but . . . " 

"She's behind the times," Britt finished for him. 

John nodded. "Yeah," he said in a very quiet voice. 

Britt pulled the papers out onto the workbench to look at them better. "Impressive," he finally said after several moments of careful study. "It's got a lot of stuff Kato and I never dreamed of being able to fit into a car. Hell," he nodded in wonderment, "There's stuff we never even dreamed would exist." He rolled up the blueprints and regarded Lee and John thoughtfully. "Good job," he said, "the perfect car for the new Green Hornet." 

"Now, Dad, I didn't mean . . . " 

"That a new Green Hornet was needed?" Britt said as he walked over to the Black Beauty. He ran a hand over her sleek sides, then patted a hand thoughtfully on the vinyl-covered roof. "She's seen a lot of action. We both have." he sighed. "But it's time for us to rest from our labors and let a new generation take over." 

"You mean . . . " 

"I mean the job's yours. If you want it. If you and Lee can work together, that is. The Green Hornet has to have a Kato. The job requires two men. Do you think you two can do it?" 

"Sure!" Lee said, obviously relieved. Suddenly he backed up, "I don't mean that I don't enjoy working with you . . . " 

"But you feel like you're always working with your father's ghost looking over your shoulder." 

Lee stared at Britt with widened eyes. "Yeah," he said in amazement. "How'd you know?" 

Britt shrugged. "I felt like that for a long time when I first took over the Sentinel," he admitted. "I always felt like everybody was waiting for me to fall flat on my face." 

He regarded Lee thoughtfully for a few moments, then continued, "I made a few mistakes, but I always landed on my feet. So will you." 

"Thanks," Lee answered, "I'm always worried that I'll never be as good as my father." 

Britt's eyes fell on John who had been listening closely to their exchange, he smiled. "Don't let it worry you, I'm sure he'd be proud of you. Just like I'm proud of you, John," he said looking directly at his son. 

John looked up in surprise, "Dad, I . . . " 

Britt clapped him on his shoulder, "I always figured that I never had to tell you, that you automatically knew. But I've been thinking that I was wrong. I should have told you more often how proud I am of you." 

He grasped his son's shoulder, then added, "Think you're up to doing some extra work at the Sentinel?" 

"Why?" John asked worriedly, "Are you okay? There isn't anything wrong is there?" 

Britt shook his head, then smiled reassuringly, "No, I'm fine. And before you ask, so is your mother. No, I'm thinking is that we're due for a break, your mother and I Maybe do a little traveling; maybe head to France, England. Who knows? Now that I know that you can handle things, why not?" 

"Thanks Dad, your faith in me means a lot. You can rely on me. And Lee. And Danielle, too," John added. 

Britt nodded. "I know I can," he said, giving John's shoulder one last squeeze. He gave the Black Beauty a final glance before heading for the barn door. 

Stopping in the open door with the sunset spilling through behind him, he regarded Lee and John for few moments. Their faces were lit not only but the sun's ruddy light, but by their eagerness for the future ahead of them. Tellingly the light didn't reach the Black Beauty. Her time was over, as was his. 

_ Were Kato and I ever that young?_ he thought. For an unguarded moment he leaned heavily on his cane, feeling the weariness of the years and of all the battles he had fought, then he straightened. One door may be closing, but there were others waiting to be opened. 

V 

"I'm impressed," Stormy said as she walked arm in arm with Jacques Le Blanc down the long hallway to the private aircraft gates. "They're pulling out all the stops for you. Private jet, hot and cold running blondes, all the comforts of home." 

Jacques laughed heartily, "Non, I am not the one that is considered important" He shot a wry glance at a large crate that was being loaded on the plane, he sighed dramatically. "I am merely the delivery man." 

"The El Greco," Stormy said knowingly. 

"Oui, the El Greco. Horrid picture that it is. I am to escort it back to France." 

"So, no blondes?" 

Jacques nodded toward one of the heavily armed guards, "None that I would care to spend my time with. Unless of course, you changed your mind . . . " 

Stormy shook her head with a laugh, "On such short notice? I don't think my credit card could take the strain." 

"I would never presume to ask a lady to pay her own expenses," Jacques answered, placing a hand on his chest, acting mortally wounded. 

"Would the expenses be covered by the sale of a certain necklace?" 

"Merely the wages due for a job well done, besides in the right setting those emeralds will be absolutely gorgeous." He ran a hand tenderly through Stormy's honey-gold hair, "As would you, my dear Stormy." 

Stormy shook her hair free of Jacques's fingers, "Sorry, Slick, no go." 

"Ah, but you have never seen Paris in the Spring. The chestnut trees in bloom . . . " 

"Talking about chestnuts," acidly remarked a female voice, "that has got to be oldest one of them all." 

"Dani! What a pleasant surprise!" Jacques said, stepping back to see Danielle arriving with Britt and Casey behind her. "How did you find out that I was leaving?" 

"You know Dad, he has his sources." 

"Oui," Jacques answered, "So it appears." 

"Monsieur Le Blanc, you must get on board now," said a man dressed in a solemn black suit. 

"Of course," Jacques answered. He turned back to Danielle. "Au revoir mon sourette he said, giving her a light peck on the cheek. 

"Kid sister?" Danielle said. 

"Oui," he said regretfully. "I may have lost a lost lover, but at least I have gained a sister." 

Jacques caught the concern in Britt's eye, "Do not worry mon père, I am only kidding, Danielle and I have always been just friends." 

Britt cast a look at Danielle who nodded her agreement. "Not for lack of trying," she said, then quickly added at the look on his face, "On my part. Jacques was always a gentlemen." She sighed. "Now I know why." 

"Britt . . . " Casey said, placing a hand on his arm. 

Britt shook his head, then said, "I'm glad we got to meet," he said to Jacques. "Do you know the story in that paining?" 

"In what way?" Jacques asked. 

"The parable of the Prodigal Son. The painting shows the moment when the father welcomes back his wayward son." 

Jacques nodded, wondering where Britt was going. "Oui?" he said. 

Britt thoughtfully chewed on his lower lip, then said, "I once had only one son, now I have two. I'm glad." Then at a sudden loss for words, he added, "Remember me to your mother. Tell her, I, uh, I remember her fondly," he finally said. 

Jacques took Britt's proffered hand and shook it, saving the older man the embarrassment of dealing with the traditional French way of leave-taking. "And I am glad to have met you. I am proud that I carry your blood in my veins, if not your name." 

Britt looked downcast, "I'm sorry." 

"Don't," Jacques said, "You did not know." He shrugged. "Things happen as they should," he said, surprising himself at his own philosophical viewpoint. 

"Sir..." the guard pressed, this time making it clear that further delays would not be tolerated. 

Jacques took a moment longer to press his lips to Casey's hand, "Au revoir, Madame Reid. Take care of yourself and your family. Perhaps we will meet again." 

"Maybe we will," Britt said before Jacques left. An odd look passed between them, green-blue eyes locking with green-blue. "In France," he added. 

Casey leaned against Britt as they watched Jacques' plan head off into the evening sky. "What was that remark about France?" she asked. 

"Who knows?" he answered. He looked down at her with a slight smile and a glimmer in his pale eyes. "How'd you feel about a European vacation?" 

She looked at him closely, "Would it be really a vacation?" 

"Of course." 

**Epilogue**

In the dim green light the Black Beauty rose from its hidden berth beneath the garage floor. The Green Hornet glanced at Kato whose eyes were locked in admiration on the big black car. It was her first night out on the town, but people would soon be calling her a rolling arsenal. 

The passenger and driver side doors opened in invitation and the Green Hornet and Kato slid inside. "I always love that new car smell," Kato remarked lightly. 

The Green Hornet nodded. "So do I." 

Smiling, feeling the low thrum of excitement surge through his veins, the Green Hornet pulled out a slender green gun from the weapons locker. He pressed a button on the side, lighting up a digital display that reported pressure and volume. "Hornet gas gun, check," he said, satisfied with the readings. 

Next he pulled out the Hornet Sting. It was still a slender black extendable rod, but inside microchips and fiber optics had replaced transistors and gold wire. He pressed a button and a low hum filled the air. "Hornet sting, check." 

"Kato," the Green Hornet said, "Check the Hornet scanner." 

Kato pressed a button on the weapons control console. A hatch in the middle of the Black Beauty's trunk opened. A small device, looking much like the original even down to the blink of its ready light, rose out of its bay. However, it was much more powerful with a longer range and greater sensitivity. Kato glanced at the readout on his "heads up" display. "Hornet scanner, check," he said. Then looking at the rest of the readouts on the "heads up"including fuel, rockets, hornet gas and a host of other weapons, said, "All systems are go," adding with a sparkle in his black eyes, "Boss." 

The Green Hornet smiled. Tradition was after all, tradition. Then he nodded. It was going to be a good night. He felt in his bones. He took a deep breath, the said, "Let's roll, Kato." 

**The End (?)**


End file.
